


The Reprisal of the Force

by ErrorPleaseReload



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Separatist Anakin, Separatist Vader, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrorPleaseReload/pseuds/ErrorPleaseReload
Summary: They say the Force works in mysterious ways. Though you cannot see the bigger picture from an initial glance, or even deep scouring, does not mean it isn't being painted before you. Centuries of actions and reactions led to this moment, the final duel against good and evil. The galaxy is at a tipping point, and it's up to an unlikely hero to decide its fate. (Posted first on FanFiction)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on FanFiction under the same name. More of my works are on there, but I'm only posting this one on AO3 for now.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Please don’t sue me as I have no money.**

* * *

**The Reprisal of the Force**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

  
  


They say the Force works in mysterious ways. Though you cannot see the bigger picture from an initial glance, or even deep scouring, does not mean it isn’t being painted before you. Centuries of actions and reactions led to this moment, the final duel against good and evil; the light and the dark.

Vader could feel the darkness battling for dominance within his son, Luke Skywalker. Its tempting power pulling down defences as Vader’s mocking words did their malicious work on his psyche. Each slash grew more aggressive, each jab aiming closer and closer to the delicate machines keeping Vader alive. It was working, his efforts to turn his son were finally barring fruit-- 

And just when success was within Vader’s grasp, it was snatched away to dark amusement of his master. Luke snapped, his words finally doing their necessary work and shattering any reservations held by the boy. With a face, so like his own and Padmé’s, twisted in unrestrained rage, Luke unleashed a torrent of unrelenting strikes against Vader’s weakening defence. For the first time in the duel, Vader was retreating, barely able to slow the onslaught. He was forced across the observation deck all the way down to the catwalk. Vader toppled, barely holding himself up with the guard rail as he tried to reclaim the advantage. It was not to be, as Luke, with a masterful swing, slashed Vader’s hand free. 

The pain receptors in the mechanical hand fired in a panic, but Vader was too stunned to properly notice and react to it. Luke stood over him, his face mirroring the rage and turmoil his presence held. 

Luke could strike him down here, finish the reign of Darth Vader, but it would be his downfall. Perhaps he would serve Palpatine, perhaps he would kill the Emperor and take control of the Empire or whatever survived this battle, perhaps he would die against Sidious. All that mattered what that Vader had failed, and looking up at the boy, the child of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala, Vader could only see his self in those eyes. 

Palpatine applauded Luke’s performance, grooming him as Vader’s replacement as he had done to Anakin following the death of Count Dooku. Vader cast his mind back to that time, aboard the flagship of General Grievous. Only, this time, he was in the position of the bested Sith and Luke in the place of the troubled Jedi. Vader knew how this ended, of course, for the siren call of the Dark Side could never be ignored forever. Luke would follow in the footsteps of his father and replace Palpatine’s final apprentice.

Yet again, Luke defied expectation to Vader’s immense disbelief. His fury and fear vanished, replaced by a morose acceptance. He turned to face Palpatine and tossed aside his lightsaber, it green blade vanishing like the anger in his heart. Luke did something Vader never could, something the Dark Lord thought impossible…

He denied the call of the Dark Side and Palpatine. He tasted its vast power and refused it. It couldn’t be… that was impossible! Vader knew that better than any other, the Dark Side was not resisted, it was an inevitability! Still, his very existence running contrary to a lifetime of beliefs, Luke remained defiant of the Emperor to the very end. 

Sidious did not show surprise and how disturbed he likely felt that his machinations had failed, at least not in a manner familiar to any other sentient species. Instead, he latched onto the one emotion he knew better than any other, one he had used to control and manipulate foes for decades: hate.

Vader watched in muted horror as Sidious launched torrents of blue force lighting, purposely torturing Luke in the more painful manner he could conjure. Vader, who had suffered under such attacks before, could only watch as his son, his only son, was tortured before his very eyes. He could not act, he could not release himself from the control of the Dark Side. He was not as strong as Luke, he was weak… So very weak…

Luke cried out to him now, and Vader wanted to move. To save his son, to save the last memory of Padmé before Sidious took even that from him, but…

No… 

Vader had sat by and watched everything taken from him; his mother, his wife, and now his son. His choices, his weakness, his susceptibility to the Dark Side had cost him everything. Vader could not destroy the hate that had ruled him for over two decades, but he could direct it.

“No.” Vader growled, storming forwards despite his wounds and grabbing Palpatine; his mentor and tormentor, and lifting the deceivably frail man overhead. Palpatine was too lost in his hate and madness to even properly realize what was going on, still cackling madly and lashing out randomly with his dark powers. Thankfully, the target was no longer Luke, and Vader had suffered far worse.

Each step felt short, and the distance to the nebulous pit that the observation deck sat on felt like it was kilometres away, yet Vader still reached it. With one last display of his failing strength, for Vader could feel his remaining mechanical limbs shutting down under the concentrated power, Vader pitched Sidious into the depths below before, finally, collapsing.

Palpatine’s inhuman shrieks could be heard all the way down, finally seeming to realize he had been betrayed. He toppled end over end before evaporating into the energy source so far below. The power backlash, either form Palpatine or the core, nearly threw Vader backwards.

It was over, the dark power of Palpatine was destroyed once and for all, and the galaxy was free.

Vader collapsed to a knee as he felt a weight that had been pressed down upon his shoulders for so very long dissipate. It was a momentous occasion, almost covering the abject agony Vader was feeling at the present moment.

Luke was by his side in an instant, and for that Vader was beyond touched. Had their positions been reversed, Vader would not have been so kind… But, Luke was stronger than Vader or Anakin ever were, his heart a vast ocean for which even someone as evil and reprehensible as Darth Vader had a place--

No, Vader did not have a place. Anakin Skywalker did.

And on that failing battle station, surrounded by the last vestiges of Palpatine’s evil, Darth Vader died, and Anakin was reborn, but it was a shortlived rebirth. Anakin did what he had dreamed of doing so long ago, and looked upon his and Padmé’s child with his own eyes. It was there that Anakin had died, so full of regret yet at peace, for he had found salvation in his child.

He did not beg the Force for another chance, as he had done before, for there was no forgiving what he had done. The Force, however, works in mysterious ways, and it would not lose its champion.

* * *

“ _ Anakin? _ ”

Anakin could still see his son’s face, even as he closed his eyes. The boy had his mother’s soft, kind features, but the sharp eyes of his father… His mother’s boundless kindness, but his father’s impulsiveness. Oh, how Padmé would have loved him… Anakin wondered for the first time if it was her that named Luke, or the actions of the late Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, or Bail Organa?

“ _ Anakin? Can you hear me? _ ”

Perhaps Owen or Beru had been the ones to name him? What strange thoughts one has in their final moments, but Anakin couldn’t complain. It was certainly better than the nightmares he had suffered through for over two decades--

Something nudged his shoulder, dragging Anakin from the depths of his thoughts and back into the present. He noted immediately that he wasn’t dead, he was breathing steadily and could see as clear as day--

Perhaps that was not a very apt statement, wherever Anakin was currently was dim and his eyes, so accustomed to the red of his mask that he struggled to breach its darkness. The second thing he noticed was the Force around him. It felt different, less… Dark. Anakin had become too accustomed to the Emperor’s malignant presence that he had forgotten what the Galaxy had felt like without him. Anakin hadn’t felt this… free since before the Clone Wars.

“Anakin, if you are done daydreaming, I was speaking to you.” A calm but exasperated voice reached Anakin from his right. Anakin blinked a couple of times before turning, carefully, to study the speaker.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin spoke before he could stop himself, his voice breathless and confused and… so very young? Something was wrong here and as Obi-Wan recoiled with his own surprise written across his face, Anakin could feel a trickle of danger. Something was happening beyond the door behind them, and the Force wanted so desperately for Anakin to stop it.

“Danger.” Anakin’s voice took a hardened edge, his hand shot to his hip for the familiar weight of his lightsaber. It was cool against his grip-- Cool? Since when had he been able to feel temperature through his mechanical limb? Anakin looked down and, gleaming in the meagre lights flickering through the darkness, he saw pale skin where a black gauntlet had been for more than two decades. What-- Later, danger now. 

“I sensed it as well,” Obi-Wan, or whoever this doppelganger was, drew a lightsaber of his own. Twin flashes of blue filled the small space, drawing another moment of deep confusion from Anakin before he pushed it aside to deal with later. The door separating them and the danger opened with the press of a button, revealing a… bedroom. Anakin scoured it with his still adjusting eyes for a moment before he spied the danger. Two serpentine-like creatures wriggling across the prone form of whoever was sleeping in the bed. Anakin could never clear that distance fast enough, so he did the next best thing. Drawing on the force, he dragged both creatures across the short space between himself and the bed. A skilful swing of his lightsaber severed one… and completely missed the other. Anakin, so used to the weight and sluggishness of his arm, swung far too early and only got the first creature by mere luck. The other bounced, unharmed, off of Anakin’s chest, which lacked the armour Anakin was so used to, and onto the ground. Luckily, he had the presence of mind to bring the heel of his boot down on it before it could escape, but it was near thing. The Obi-Wan look-alike dove out of the window, again shocking Anakin. One, because he just leapt out of a window, and two, because that was what the real Obi-Wan did in a situation  _ eerily similar  _ to this one. Pieces were beginning to come together, and as ludicrous as those pieces seemed, Anakin was left with the undeniable truth being made before him.

All thoughts of discovering just what in the hell was going on were quickly lost as Anakin stood, rooted to the spot. The lights to the room flickered to life, revealing a droid looking almost exactly the same as R2-D2, and furthering Anakin’s suspicions. However, it was not R2s miraculous appearance that stunned Anakin to silence. That occurrence was part in thanks to the young woman now seated on her bed, looking around blearily in confusion and exhaustion. Even in this dishevelled state, however, she was as beautiful as the day he remembered.

Padmé Amidala, Senator of Naboo, his wife. 

Anakin couldn’t move or think, for his suspicions regarding where, or more specifically  _ when,  _ he was had just been proven in their entirety. The feeling of cold air on his skin could be an illusion, the R2 and Obi-Wan lookalikes could be faked, even the location could be a set, but her? He had seen her time and again in his dreams, those freed from nightmares of regret and self-hatred, and she was as beautiful as he remembered.

He also remembered the last time they met, her fear and horror at his actions, at his killing her… 

Get out, he needed to get out, he needed to breathe. At that moment, a trio of her protection detail stormed the room with blasters raised.

“Master Jedi, what--” The lead guard started, but Anakin managed to school his face (something he had not had to do since the last time his could breath unassisted) into a neutral expression to hide his panic. 

“Watch the Senator,” His voice was still young sounding, as it had moments before, but it held some of the authority he wielded as Darth Vader. Enough so that the guards acted without further direction and moved to assist the frazzled Senator.

Anakin strode form the room, deactivated lightsaber held tightly in one hand as the other clenched into a fist. His thoughts were a mess, lingering on Padmé and the situation that led him to be here now more than anything else. Was this the will of the Force? Merely a final, fevered dream before his dying mind finally expired? Everything felt so real…

Anakin compartmentalized those thoughts for now, he needed time to meditate and make sense of his tumultuous emotions. If this was the event he remembered, then he and Obi-Wan had just thwarted an assassination attempt against Padmé… Which meant Obi-Wan was--

The damned fool, he was hanging onto the drone that delivered the would-be assassins. Anakin reached out with the Force to sense his former… current Master. The man’s equal parts annoying and calming presence was moving quickly away form the building, and would soon be lost in the mess that was Coruscant. Anakin, not for the first time in his life, cursed his limited body--

Before remembering it wasn’t really all that limited at the current moment. As Darth Vader, moving at anything faster than a brisk walk was out of the question, but this was not the same body. He was lighter, weaker, and had a pair of functioning legs.

Tentatively speeding up his movement speed, Anakin began an awkward jog. Though his body was capable and used to moving at fast speeds, his mind was not in the same condition. However, his strange jaunt soon became a job and that, in turn, evolved into a sprint. It was liberating to be able to move in such a way that he hadn’t for years. Despite the serious circumstances, or how devoid of joy Anakin had become in his later life, he allowed himself a small smile.

Anakin arrived at the landing platform where a number of expensive speeders were parked. Out of a growing sense of curiosity, returned since his freedom from his suit, Anakin sought the same speeder he had used in the chase so long ago. His memories of the event were foggy for several reasons, but thankfully it was the only yellow, open-topped speeder of the bunch. A strange feeling of nostalgia fell over the fallen Jedi as he approached the speeder. Not for the vehicle itself, it was returned shortly after the chase. No, it was the events surrounding the chase, the simplicity of life following the incident on Naboo and before the Clone Wars. How had he never appreciated things as they were then?

Arrogance, of course, and a childish desire for adventure. As Vader, the notion of such emotions was pointless and a weakness, but as an Anakin reborn? He wished to enjoy that childish whimsy if only one last time, before war ripped the galaxy apart and forced him to be the Warmaster that he was.

Slicing the speeder was a small struggle, another of Anakin Skywalker’s many skills forgotten when he was Vader. It was added, to the ever-growing list of things he needed to relearn, though far below rediscovering his old talent with a lightsaber and his ability to talk without sounding threatening…

The speeder took off as smoothly as one could make it when in a rush. Anakin gunned the engines and raced in the direction he could sense Obi-Wan. Weaving in and out of the oncoming traffic was almost child’s play for someone with as much experience flying as he did. Despite the mess of airborne craft, Obi-Wan was easy enough to spot. A man hanging desperately from a probe droid was certainly hard to miss, especially since the civilian drivers were giving them a wide berth.

Anakin moved the speeder under Obi-Wan, who released the droid and landed almost gracefully into the passenger’s seat. The man was damp with sweat from the effort of holding onto the floating droid but seemed in mostly high spirits.

“What took you so long?” Obi-Wan asked his tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Apologies. Where is the assassin?” Anakin answered tonelessly while wincing internally. That was not how Anakin Skywalker would respond, at least not as a young man. While, as Vader, he was not devoid of wit, it was far more focused on black comedy than friendly banter. That, like so many other things if Anakin was going to avoid anyone realizing who or what he was, would need work.

If Obi-Wan noticed this tone, he didn’t show it. Leaning out of the cockpit, he scoured the fleet of vehicles for a moment before pointing out a distant one.

“There he is!” Anakin turned the nose of the speeder down and jetted after the rapidly fleeing assassin. The vehicle, like so many other things now, seemed vaguely familiar, bringing back long forgotten and buried memories. 

Thus began a long, exhilarating chase. Anakin’s vehicle of choice, as he soon learned, was not very fast nor highly manoeuvrable, unlike the speeder used by the bounty hunter. It was only through Anakin’s skill as a pilot that he kept pace, making dangerous spins and close turns where the other pilot would not. Obi-Wan, of course, voiced concern over Anakin’s flying. Anakin tactfully ignored him.

The Anakin of now had a singlemindedness his younger self never had. There was a time for banter, though in Vader’s case there was never a time, and there was a time for focus. Many people, good people, died because Anakin had decided to crack a joke or some other distraction in the middle of a battle.

The chase led Anakin from the Senate District to the defunct Industrial District nearby, the would-be assassin trying desperately to lose Anakin through electrical fields and great plumes of smoke. Both, however, did nothing to fool the force. His… No,  _ her _ fear was intoxicating, drawing Anakin’s attention like a moth to a flame. The pull of the Dark Side was as present as ever, but for now, Anakin could ignore its promises of great power… For now…

Shaking those darker thoughts from his head, Anakin watched the bounty hunter dive down into a tunnel, vanishing alongside other speeders. Anakin stopped himself short of diving after it. A tunnel had to open up somewhere and, scanning the skyline, Anakin spotted a flow of speeders rising up and joining the main lanes. Turning his stolen speeder, and raced for the exit before the bounty hunter could reach it herself.

“Where are you going? He went that way!” Obi-Wan complained, pointing in the direction of the rapidly vanishing express tunnel. Had he been his younger self, Anakin would have been purposely vague about what he was doing to prove he was a more competent Jedi than Obi-Wan. Their pre-war relationship could be called frosty at best, antagonistic at worse. However, Vader had been a no-nonsense individual, and that was one of the few things that carried over to the reborn Anakin.

“That is a one-way express tunnel,” Anakin lied easily, to be honest, he wasn’t really sure if it was one-way with one exit, he hadn’t read its sign. In actuality, this just seemed like a better idea. Obi-Wan did display his surprise this time, visibly recoiling at Anakin so freely explaining himself and being logical, “The tunnel exits there.” 

“Oh… uh… Good job.” Obi-Wan managed after a few moments of open-mouthed staring. Anakin let a small part of his sarcastic wit show.

“Don’t act so surprised-- Master.” Anakin caught himself before he referred to Obi-Wan by either his first or last name. It felt strange to refer to the man he had hated for so long as ‘Master’ once again, but then again, he did the same thing for Palpatine for just as long. Maybe he didn’t have much room to complain. 

“I wasn’t surprised, I was just…” Obi-Wan started before catching himself, narrowing his eyes as he stared ahead. The small twitches and frown on the man’s face told Anakin that Obi-Wan was trying, and failing, to correct himself. It was strange that Anakin still knew Obi-Wan’s ticks, why did that of all things have to remain, but not his old skill with a lightsaber?

“Surprised?” Anakin answered for him, looking over at Obi-Wan from the corner of his eyes and allowing the barest smirk to cross his lips. Obi-Wan tried to deny it yet again before sighing in defeat.

“Well… Yes.”

“Your faith in me is staggering, Master.” Anakin said with a scoff as he looked over the edge of his requisitioned speeder, keeping an eye for the distinct if the distant shape of the Bounty Hunter’s speeder. Sensing her from here was something of a challenge, especially given the horde of civilian speeders zipping every which way, but he had managed it before--

There she was, flying between two larger speeders, but moving at a far more lax pace. Evidently, she was confident she had escaped. Alas, overconfidence was the bane of all would-be assassins.

“It is not a lack of faith, my young padawan, it is merely-- ANAKIN?!” Anakin, however, was no longer listening and threw himself from the speeder and down towards that of the Bounty Hunter. Confident that Obi-Wan wouldn’t crash and die horribly, Anakin dove for the increasingly larger spacecraft without an ounce of fear.

The landing was hard, as was to be expected, and Anakin nearly fell to his premature death due, again, to his lack of confidence in such an agile, intact body. By luck, or perhaps the will of the Force, he managed to hold on. The Bounty Hunter, evidently aware of the unintended passenger on her roof, swerved wildly to throw him off. This was not the Anakin of two decades ago, however, and as such he was more than capable of multitasking.

With one hand holding tightly onto the flailing speeder, Anakin extended his other and concentrated on the repulsor coils built into the left ‘wing’. With a small amount of effort, he crushed the lot of them and was rewarded with a gout of flames and violent plumes of black smoke. The speeder lost all semblance of control and spun wildly back to the planet’s surface, the Bounty Hunter doing all that she could to control their descent.

Anakin braced himself for impact, both hands now holding onto the speeder for dear life. Once they were a safe distance from the ground, he dropped and landed in an extremely sloppy roll. Alas, another issue with fleshy legs was that he couldn’t land in the intimidating, and admittedly pretty cool, way he did as Vader.

He was on his feet in a flash, though, and raced to the crash site of the speeder. The Bounty Hunter was only just escaping the fiery wreck of her transport when Anakin reached her, his lightsaber flashing to life in a blaze of blue. She was an admirably fast draw, though, and pivoted on the spot with a blaster pistol in hand. 

Anakin slowed his sprint, falling into a form of deflection he was far more confident utilizing. In time, he would readapt to the speed and agility of his younger self, but today was not that time. With practised, almost lazy swipes, Anakin bat blaster bolt after blaster bolt away, knocking them over the heads of the gathered crowd or in the general direction of the Bounty Hunter. Naturally, his aim was still rather off, but it was better to miss than accidentally killing her on the spot.

Anakin, in a few long strides, reached the increasingly desperate Bounty Hunter. She had retreated to the edge of the platform and, in a desperate bid to save her skin, tried to shove the blaster under Anakin’s guard. Harry, with an almost negligent slash, attempted to cut the barrel of the blaster off. However, his clumsy movements and her speed led to the slash falling on her wrist instead of her blaster.

The woman’s resulting scream of agony and horror as she fell to her knees was a sign the battle was over. Anakin called the blaster to his hand before retreating a pace back. The woman bemoaned the loss of her hand for another minute or so before Obi-Wan finally showed up.

“Was cutting off her his… her hand necessary?” Obi-Wan asked, noticing the severed appendage lying on the ground as well as the former owner, who was curled up on the ground and sounding quite depressing.

“I was aiming for the blaster.” Was all Anakin would say on the matter, deactivating his lightsaber and tossing the blaster over the nearby edge. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but did not reprimand his apprentice… Padawan… Whatever Anakin was at this point, and knelt before the fallen Bounty Hunter.

“You have caused quite a stir, Bounty Hunter,” Obi-Wan commented lightly like he was discussing the weather with an acquaintance. The Bounty Hunter, showing an impressive level of self-control, glared balefully up at Obi-Wan and did not respond. 

“Who are you working for?” Anakin demanded redundantly as he already knew the answer to that, still standing behind Obi-Wan with his arms crossed in what he hoped looked like an intimidating pose. The loss of several inches, a stone or ten, and a pure black suit certainly didn’t help anything. The Bounty Hunter changed her glare from Obi-Wan to Anakin, though it was noticeably weaker and tinged by no small amount of fear. It wasn’t every day, after all, that your speeder was destroyed by the Force and you were disarmed in the most literal sense by a Jedi… Though Anakin was still wary on referring to himself as such. He was not a Sith, nor was he a Jedi… By the Force, this was a confusing mess…

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan said in a warning tone, not bothering to look back before addressing the Bounty Hunter again. Anakin held back a scoff and a small twinge of anger, now painstakingly reminded of how dismissive of him pre-war Obi-Wan was. Unbidden memories, both good and bad, flooded Anakin’s mind and made him introspective for a moment. Long enough that he missed whatever Obi-Wan said to the Bounty Hunter and her response. He turned back in as Obi-Wan responded in kind.

“Well, Miss Wesell, I think you, my Padawan, and I will be taking a trip down to the Jedi Temple so we may continue this conversation. Anakin--”

But Anakin was no longer listening, for the Force screamed out a warning to the young Force User. Turning and igniting his lightsaber in the same motion, Anakin spied a distant, silver-and-blue figure on a far off building. With an almost instinctual swing, Anakin destroyed a small object attempting to race passed him. It vanished in a shower of sparks and a small shriek, but Anakin’s eyes were on the figure.

Jango Fett, the father of Boba Fett and genetic donator for the Clone Armies on Kamino, stared back. His arm lowered, likely having been guiding the dart. No sooner had Anakin destroyed the weapon did Fett take off into the night sky, vanishing around a building and into the mass of speeders.

“Where did he go?!” Obi-Wan demanded, by Anakin’s side in an instant and scouring the skies for Fett. Anakin, a scowl on his face as he realized he had just destroyed the only lead on Kamino, sighed and shook his head.

“He’s gone. His armour looked like it was Mandalorian, though.”

“Mandalorian, huh?” Obi-Wan murmured, scratching at his beard for a moment, “A rare sight… Take heart, my young Padawan. We may have lost the mastermind of this plot, but we did capture the assassin herself.” 

Both of them turned to face Wesell, who was still prone on the ground. Her face was twisted into one of horror, hurt, and loss.

“He… He tried to kill me…”

She did not resist as the duo led her to Anakin’s appropriated speeder and sped back to the Senator’s apartment. Anakin was dropped off, left with the task of continuing the watch over the Senator, while Obi-Wan raced for the Temple. Anakin had no doubt Wesell would prove useful, but did she know about Kamino or who Fett worked for? Or, better yet, who Fett’s master worked for?

Thus ended the first night of Anakin Skywalker’s, formerly Darth Vader, rebirth into the past, and already the winds of change were blowing…

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Please don't sue me as I have no money.**

* * *

**The Reprisal of the Force**

**Chapter 2**

**Perspectives: Anakin Skywalker**

* * *

_ Peace is a lie. There is only Passion. Through Passion, I gain Strength. Through Strength, I gain Power. Through Power, I gain Victory. Through Victory my chains are Broken.  _

_ The Force shall free me. _

The creed of the Sith. It was by this code that Anakin spent almost half his life living, believing in it far more than he had ever believed the archaic Jedi Code. It made sense, to a mind as twisted and sorrowful as Anakin’s following his transformation into Darth Vader and the events surrounding that. 

However, hindsight was 20-20, as they said. Anakin realized now that the Sith were just as flawed, if not more so than the Jedi. The natural state of the galaxy was not peace, as the Jedi believed, nor was it war, as the Sith claimed. It was a mixture of the two, an ebb and flow that neither side seemed to be able to comprehend or accept. The Force, much like the galaxy, was neither good nor evil. It was a spectrum, with abilities and powers from both sides. Abilities and powers one must harness to truly understand the nature of the Force. That was where Palpatine, Yoda, and even Anakin had failed where Luke had succeeded. 

Luke dabbled in both the dark and the light, yet fell to neither. He did not reject emotion and attachment like a Jedi, nor did he allow it to control his actions like a Sith. Luke was the truest definition of the Jedi, a being in tune with the Force. Who had trained Luke after Obi-Wan died, Anakin wondered? Did Yoda discover the true nature of the Force, the balance, or did Luke find another? So many questions, but they were not ones Anakin had the capability to answer. He was weak, he knew that now better than ever. Even now, seated in the living room of Padmé Amidala, the light and dark battled for dominance in Anakin’s mind.

It was not his desire for Padmé that drove him, for temptations of the flesh were as foreign to Anakin now as warfare was to an Alderaanian. No, it was an emotional desire, to reconnect with the woman he had loved so much and sacrificed everything for, only to kill her in his maddening fury.

But she was not the Padmé Amidala he remembered. She was naive now, young and so hopelessly foolish in the face of what was truly going on. Even now, while Obi-Wan interrogated the Bounty Hunter who’s name Anakin had forgotten, she prepared to go before the Senate and debated the idea with her security staff. She was not  _ his  _ Padmé, and that thought was all that kept Anakin sane now.

Looking at her, at her eyes and soft face, he was reminded of Luke so very much. It caused a great throb in his aching heart, but he kept his emotions in check. Luke would sacrifice himself to correct the wrongs his father committed, and he did on several occasions. Anakin Skywalker was not half the man or Jedi his son was, for twenty years he was hardly the former and not the latter even slightly, but he would try. He would try with every ounce of his being to stop the rise of Palpatine. The Clone Wars were inevitable, but that did not mean the complete descent of Dooku or the countless deaths of innocents were wholly unavoidable. 

Anakin made a decision then and there. Midsts the turmoil of his emotions, he swore he would not approach Padmé as he had the first time around. Their love, perfect as it was, was an anchor for both of them. Anakin could not act freely, without restriction, if he pursued her as he so desperately wanted. Padmé, for her part, would be wholly invested in her grand mission in the Senate, and stand as a balancing figure against Palpatine. 

When Anakin opened his eyes, he sought her face, flushed with annoyance as she debated her movements with the chief of her security staff. This was not his Padmé, and he was not her Anakin. He was a monster, but he was a monster that would do right by the son, and daughter, that would never be born.

He would save the galaxy, even if it cost all that he had.

“The Jedi Council would advise against this action, Senator Amidala,” Anakin spoke carefully, his voice showing little emotion as was expected of a good little Jedi. Padmé seemed momentarily taken aback by this sudden shift in how they interacted, seeming to sense the sudden distance thrown between them. However, her indignance in the face of yet more opposition won out and she opened her mouth to retort in favour of going. She was saved from having to reply as Anakin continued, “The failure of both your security staff and that of the Senate to stop this attack is worrisome. Fortunately, I am not the Jedi Council and as such whole-heartedly agree that approaching the Senate is the best course of action.” 

Padmé seemed, momentarily, taken aback by this sudden agreement. Her expression promised an interrogation at a later date, but for the time being, she turned her attention back towards the chief of her security.

“Even Jedi Skywalker agrees with me, Typho. I cannot let this attack go unanswered. Clearly, someone from the opposition fears what I have to say, and if I refuse to go then they will have already won.”

Again, her naivety bared is ugly head. Evidently, she had not even entertained the thought that a hither-to unseen third party was plotting her demise. Even now, Anakin had no doubt Nute Gunray was frothing at the mouth over this latest failure to kill Padmé. 

Nute Gunray… blast, the entire Separatist Council was still alive and well, planning their war from their shadow organisation behind the Raxus Senate. What’s more, several dozen Sith Acolytes, who had been so difficult to destroy before, and General Grievous at the height of his power were still active. Even with his extensive, if slightly foggy memory, of the Clone Wars intact, Anakin couldn’t be everywhere at once, mitigating casualties. War was coming, and despite all the power he touted in the Force and, in time, with the blade, he would be able to stop almost nothing as a mere Padawan…

“Be that as it may, Senator, I still highly recommend we leave Coruscant as soon as possible. Half your guard detail is already dead and we are getting no help from the Senate Guard as is.” Typho, who Anakin now recognized having killed the man as Vader, attempted to dissuade Padmé. Evidently, the man’s heart wasn’t really in it, as his words lacked some of their earlier conviction. Anakin knew this fact of life better than most; when Padmé had an idea in her head, she wasn’t going to let it go until she saw it through.

“I agree with the Chief Typho, Senator,” Anakin rose from his meditative stance on the couch and approached the group, one hand resting near his lightsaber at all times, “But speaking before the Senate should come first. Your handmaidens and remaining guards should prepare to leave as soon as you finish speaking to the Senate.” 

Typho gave a tentative nod of thanks towards Anakin for his support before all eyes fell on Padmé. She seemed conflicted, as was expected of someone in her position. From her point of view, running after speaking to the Senate was still running, and it made it clear to the supposed opposition to her pleas for peace that they had spooked her. However, two consecutive, nearly successful assassination attempts did their toll. Remaining on the planet was suicide, and though Anakin severely doubted that Fett was still on Coruscant, it was better to be safe than sorry. Damn his memory, why couldn’t he just remember the specific time table?

“Very well,” Padmé finally gave up and shook her head in defeat. Turning her attention back towards Typho, she continued, “Jar-Jar will have to remain here to continue representing Naboo. I pray to anything that might be listening that he doesn’t mess up too much…”

It was a sentiment all present shared towards the incompetent, if well-meaning, representative for the Gungans. Jar-Jar, if Anakin’s memory served correctly, remained in Palpatine’s good graces for the duration of the Empire, though to reason  _ why  _ escaped Anakin at the present moment. 

“I’ll leave my best men to watch over the Representative, Senator,” Typho assured Padmé with a curt nod.

“That won’t be necessary, Captain. With Anakin with me and a few of my remaining guards, I should be fine. Stay here and watch Jar-Jar.” 

“But, Senator--” Anakin watched in quiet amusement as Typho was silenced by a glare from the diminutive Senator, her short and petite stature doing little to weaken the strength of her piercing gaze. Typho seemed to weigh his options for a few moments before bowing his head in acceptance.

“As you wish, Senator. I’ll… have my men prepare.” Typho saluted Anakin and Padmé before leaving the room with the two guards still inside. Only Artoo, who was standing guard nearby as the droid seemed to feel personally responsible for the nearly successful attempt against Padmé the night before, remained.

“I must report to the Jedi Council. They will want to be informed of our plans.” Anakin said as an excuse to escape, suddenly afraid of being under Padmé complete attention. It was a strange thing for the man who once controlled the galaxy through fear and strength alone to be terrified by the mere idea of speaking to Padmé. However, his memories of their love, of their children, and of his murder were clear in his mind like they had only happened yesterday. He swore not to pursue her and focus on the galaxy’s well-being, yet the siren call of what they had once before pulled at him every second Anakin stood near Padmé.

“Very well,” Padmé sighed, waving Anakin away with a dismissive gesture before glaring up at him again, “Though I would like to speak to you in regards to last night’s… events, Anakin. Once you are done, of course.”

“Of course,” Anakin allowed a small smirk to cross his features, very aware of the creeping suspicion and concern on the young Senator’s face. He had been acting too strangely and far too formal, Padmé was suspicious of the shift. 

Anakin bowed respectfully to Padmé as she left the same way Typho had, soon flanked by two armed guards. When the door closed, Anakin sighed. His fingers found the bridge of his nose, pinching it in a move he had been incapable of for so long. What a mess life had become in a few short hours, and already he was making a mess of the original timeline.

Not willing to put off speaking to the Council any longer, and not wanting to be in their bad graces any more than he absolutely had to, Anakin pulled out his communicator. It was then, looking down at the little device, that he realized a slight issue.

Anakin, like all Jedi, had an access code to communicate with the Temple. Anakin had changed his several times during the Clone Wars, and seeing as he couldn’t even remember the specific times of events during the build-up to the war, remembering a ten-digit code seemed a little farfetched. 

For a solid five minutes, Anakin glared down at the little device as if it had personally offended him, wracking his brain for any clue at what his access code could be. As it turned out, he didn’t need to communicate with the Temple as they soon opened communications with him.

A small, blue hologram of Obi-Wan, beard and all, appeared in Anakin’s palm. The man seemed briefly surprised that Anakin had responded nearly instantly, as he quickly retracted his hand form rubbing his nose. Anakin allowed himself a small smirk, finding the ever composed Obi-Wan briefly compromised was always amusing.

“Master, I was just about to call you,” Anakin said with a pleasant tone.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan said as a greeting before pressing into the more important matter, “Was there any trouble?”

“None. It seems our ‘mastermind’ decided one attempt last night was enough.”

“Be serious, Anakin.”

“I am, Master. I’ve created contingencies and everything. I even convinced the Senator to get off the planet and back to Naboo.” Anakin, of course, neglected to mention that it was the idea of Typho.

“That’s… Good, actually. The Queen will be more prepared to protect her than the Senate Guard, at the very least.” 

“We intend to leave after she speaks before the Senate.”

“Good, we can-- Wait, no! She can’t speak in front of the Senate, not now. If the Senate realize we have the assassin prisoner, they’ll demand that the CSF take control of the interrogation.” It took Anakin a moment to remember what that acronym was. The Coruscant Security Force, if memory served, was replaced by the Coruscant Guard at the start of the Clone Wars and was absorbed into Coruscant Police. They were infamous for their corruption and incompetence. Fett wouldn’t even need to kill the assassin at that point, the prison would do it unintentionally. 

“It was a miracle that we could convince her to leave at all, Master. You haven’t gotten anything from the assassin, yet?”

“You know I can’t talk about that over communicators, my young padawan,” Younger Anakin would have bristled under such a title, but as he was not, Anakin barely noticed it, “But we are getting some rather useful information in return for protection from this Ja-- the mastermind,” Obi-Wan said, catching himself before he said Jango Fett’s name. Anakin smothered a small smirk, it seemed the assassin was quite happy to give up all she knew to get back at her would-be killer.

It did raise the question of what would happen to her once this entire mess was sorted out and the Clone Wars began in earnest? How much was she privy to,? Did she know about the Clones, or more importantly, who created them? Those were important questions, and she could possibly ruin everything on both sides by answering them… Looking at it logically, if the Jedi were aware of the part Dooku played in the creation of the Clones, then they would be far more cautious of them and likely investigate closer. However, this would lead to nothing. Even  _ if  _ they discovered the contingency orders, Order 66 wasn’t worded to be especially sinister. The Pong Krell’s and Barriss Offee’s proved its necessity. No matter how much the Jedi prepared, they didn’t stand a chance against the Clone Legions. So, Anakin was back to square one. The bounty hunter was useless…  _ for now. _

“I see… I’ll report back once I reach Naboo, Master.” Anakin finally said, not voicing his concerns or deep-seated plots. 

“Good,” Obi-Wan gave a slight nod before remembering something else, “Oh, and do try and stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t I always?”

Obi-Wan did not dignify that with a reply, though the man seemed very surprised by the fact that the two of them, who were usually very antagonistic towards each other, shared some banter. The confusing mess that was Anakin’s emotions served to leave him confused as well, though he certainly didn’t display as much towards his old master. 

The communication was dropped following the usual farewells, and Anakin was left alone with his thoughts. 

Soon, he would join Padmé on her trek back to the Senate, where she would speak to the incompetent fools about her failed assassination the night before. They would react as expected: the opposition denying it fervently, her allies calling for snap votes while tempers were high, and Mas Amedda controlling them as he usually did; as in, not at all.

A younger Anakin might have found all these political games dreadfully dull but as an older man? Politics and the intricacies therein were always a guilty pleasure for Darth Vader, one of the few he allowed himself in his depressing pit he called a ‘life’. Of course, Vader never needed to participate in such political manoeuvering, but it was interesting to watch how politicians stretched truths and lied blatantly to their constituents. 

However, it was not excitement that Anakin felt at the present moment. Despite the years between his final death as Vader and now, Anakin had only recently cast his former master down and renounced his title as Sith Lord. However, now Palpatine was alive and well, nearing the completion of his final plan and the rise of his Empire. Anakin was no fool, he knew Palpatine had his eyes on the former Sith Lord, though was hopefully unaware of Anakin’s true origins.

* * *

Captain Typho arrived to collect Anakin an hour after he had finished speaking to Obi-Wan. They joined Padmé, who looked equal parts beautiful as she did intimidating in her Senatorial robes, and her entourage of bodyguards. The trip to the Senate rotunda was quick and quiet, though Anakin managed to ignore how immensely awkward it felt. How strange it must be for the Senator, who had gone from Anakin almost worshipping the ground she walked on to almost ignoring her wholesale. Alas, it was necessary. The smaller the connection between Anakin and Padmé, the lower the chance Palpatine would go through her to get to him. Anakin could not fall, would not fall, as he had to the dark side. He was neither a Jedi nor a Sith, he was just… him.

The rotunda was as chaotic as could be expected, alien species of every shape and size wandering the wide halls on their way to offices or pods in preparation for the gathering. Anakin remained close to Padmé, eyes scouring the crowd despite his assuredness that no attack would come here. Despite the gross ineptitude of the Senate Guard, attacking the Senate building was a job only the most insane or skilled would attempt. Given Jango Fett’s modus operandi, such an operation seemed unlikely. Cad Bane, on the other hand…

Anakin’s scouring sight found the delegation from the Trade Federation, namely Lott Dod. The wiry Neimoidian, flanked by a pair of Trade Federation troopers, had been glaring balefully at Amidala as if the very fact she was still alive offended him on a personal level. When he noticed Anakin returning the glare ten-fold, however, he opted to look anywhere else, though the Federation lackey seemed unhappy about it.

It was smart of the Senator not to bring battle droids with him as bodyguards, given what the tan-coloured menaces would soon be known for. Where Anakin a betting man, he would wager that Dod would have been shot if he had ever brought droids during the war. 

In all honesty, that did not seem so bad. 

“You’re going to make Dod soil himself if you continue to stare at him like that, Anakin,” Padmé’s chiding tone was ruined by her own amusement, likely having noticed the glare sent her way from the Federation delegation. Anakin snorted at her words, finally drawing his gaze from Dod and back down to Padmé.

“I am certain he’ll be touched that you care, Senator,” Anakin responded diplomatically, his attention finally fully leaving the Federation stooge when he vanished into the crowd of Senators and attendants. 

“Don’t mistake my words for care, Anakin,” Padmé continued, again showing no outward signs that she noticed Anakin’s shift in how he referred to her, “I merely don’t want him to become aware that he is a… suspect.”

The quirk in her lips told Anakin she didn’t really suspect Lott Dod was behind her attempted assassination, an idea that he whole-heartedly agreed with. Lott Dod was one of Gunray’s stooges, untrustworthy to an extreme, and fiendishly corrupt, but he was shrewd above all else. He would never involved himself, directly or otherwise, with such a botched assassination attempt. Gunray likely wouldn’t want to implicate his chosen representative to the Senate, either, so Dod was going into this meeting blind as the rest of them.

“I’m not so sure,” Anakin said, voicing his own thoughts, “Dod is as corrupt as they come, but he is a politician; he would never want to dirty his hands… Ah, no offence, Senator.” 

Anakin amended his words quickly and was immensely relieved when Padmé seemed more amused than anything else. 

“Poor opinions of my coworkers aside, and believe me I more than share them, I think it is time to enter my pod. Will you be joining us, Anakin?” Padmé said, stopping the group before the Senatorial pod labelled ‘Naboo: Senator Padmé Amidala, Representative Binks, & Company’. 

“Oh, I’m not brave enough for politics, Senator,” Anakin chuckled, putting up a hand in a warding gesture and ripping one of Obi-Wan’s lines from later in the war, “Besides, it would not do to make it seem as if you are being influenced by the Jedi.” 

“Are you insinuating you are influencing me, master Jedi?” Padmé asked with an upturned nose, a strange look given the height distance between them. This silly and pompous gesture, while meant as a joke, only served to remind Anakin of the age divide between the two of them. A lifetime of choices, good and bad, separated Anakin and the love he once held for Padmé Amidala. It was for the best that he did not fall for her and marry the woman he loved, it was what he told himself again and again… now if only he believed it.

“Nothing of the sort, Senator,” Anakin defended without missing a beat, “But I suspect your…  _ coworkers  _ would think the same. Especially those of the opposition.” 

“They are always searching for a way to undermine me…” Padmé agreed with a mutter, redirecting her eyes to glare balefully off to the distance before returning to the present, “Very well, I concede the point, Anakin. I will leave one of my guards with you if only to warn me when you run off on another hare-brained attempt to capture bounty hunters.” 

“You have my thanks, Senator.” 

With that, Padmé, Jar-Jar, Captain Typho, and the other guard walked out onto their pod. The other guard, a younger man with a severe face, remained with Anakin at the entrance of the pod. Mas Amedda called the Senate to order and began, with perhaps the most monotone delivery Anakin had ever heard him give, explain the general contents of that day’s meeting. Anakin and the guard, the latter of which seemed immediately bored with the happenings of the Senate, watched Mas Amedda turn the floor over to Palpatine.

Sheev Palpatine, Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, and hidden Sith Lord spoke with a grandfatherly tone and kindly expression, hiding his pure evil under decades of practice. Anakin could barely keep his loathing for the Sith Lord form his face as he watched the precession.

* * *

Anakin’s memories regarding the events prior to the Clone Wars were… shaky at best. Padmé’s speech to the Senate felt familiar, yet alien just as much. A distance of over two decades separated this moment and Anakin’s last aboard the second Death Star, so there was no telling how much was the same. He hadn’t done anything major… yet, but Anakin knew that, through the force, he was as different as the sun was to rain. Could Palpatine see it?

Could Yoda?

He couldn’t stay on Coruscant, not now of all times. Obi-Wan might be inexperienced enough to not notice a shift in Anakin’s presence, despite his best effort to hide such a chance, but Yoda and Palpatine were not so blind. In time, they would realize something dark and terrible had taken root in the formerly light, if arrogant, Anakin.

He may no longer be a Sith, but the Dark Side was as powerful as it was corrupting. One did not just let it go in its entirety, especially someone who was drowning in it for almost half his life. 

Anakin wasted no time moving Padmé, himself, and two of her guards aboard a civilian transport while the Senator’s cruiser left for Naboo without them.

The starliner was cheap, filled with seedy individuals that Padmé was hardpressed to blend in with. Anakin had no such trouble given his brown robes, and surprisingly the guards had far simpler body armour they could use, coming across as mercenaries.

“I don’t suspect anyone will recognize the Senator here,” Anakin spoke in a hushed tone to the pair of guards, who had inconspicuously cordoned off Padmé’s small segment of seating with their bodies, “But remain vigilant.”

“Yes, Master Jedi.” The older of the two responded with a sharp nod. Their position, build, and weapons made it clear to anyone nearby that they wouldn’t take kindly to close proximity. A small bubble of space had formed between them and the next nearest passengers, only inadvertently separating Padmé from the rest of the ship.

Anakin pushed past the duo to join Padmé and the other member of their company: R2-D2. Seeing the little astromech had served as its own minor shock, as the last time Anakin had seen him up-close and personal was so very long ago… Despite Anakin’s best efforts, R2 already seemed to have noticed Anakin’s shift. The little droid was always perceptive like that, and though they had spent little time together, Anakin’s change from arrogant and energetic to calm and serious did not go unnoticed.

This observation was clearly shared by Senator Amidala.

“You are refreshingly thorough,” She noted lightly as Anakin approached. She remained seated, looking up at Anakin with an unreadable expression as Anakin continued to stand. It was a struggle, not falling into Vader’s classic stances, so he maintained a deceptively relaxed posture.

“We take your safety very seriously, Senator,” Anakin responded evasively, bowing his head. Irritation shot out from Padmé’s mind unbidden, reaching Anakin even as he tried to not passively read her mind. As Vader, he made no such efforts, but he wanted to respect her privacy, in memory of the relationship that they had shared in another life.

A twinge of regret flowed through him, but it was ignored.

“Be that as it may, this is an unexpected shift from how you acted prior to my… incident.” Padmé said, the challenge clear in her voice. It was evident, if Anakin was reading her properly, that Padmé clear though this change was an attempt to impress her. Such an assumption would have stung the ego of a younger Anakin Skywalker, no matter how true it would have been, but the Anakin of now was used and experienced in dealing with such snubs. 

“The Jedi are not so easily distracted that we cannot remain focused on our current mission. How I was before the incident and how I am now are dictated by circumstance, Senator.” Anakin responded easily, a small smile gracing his lips. He turned, the feeling of loss and regret growing with each word. Despite the doublespeak and overly formal way the two of them were speaking with, there was a playful tone to their conversation. A tone Vader needed to escape if he were to maintain his promise, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Senator.”

A small amount of panic and worry escaped Padmé’s mind, made manifest as she raised a hand to stop him.

“Anakin, I didn’t mean to offend--”

“And you did nothing of the sort, Senator. Circumstance called for change, so I adapted. Your guards will contact me should an issue arise.” Anakin turned as stalked away, attempting to keep his movements loose and carefree. Already, his actions seemed to be under scrutiny by the woman that would… have been his wife. He was too severe, too calm, too serious…

Force, he needed to get better at this whole ‘subtle’ thing. 

“Comm me if anything happens,” Anakin whispered as he passed the guards, who seemed locked in a staring contest with an especially large Bothan mercenary.

“Yes, sir.” 

Anakin left the duo to their work, passing the Bothan as he went. The large alien scoffed at him but did nothing else but glare.

Soon, he found a secluded corner of the ship, where mostly droids seemed to occupy. Their silent company was welcome as Anakin took a seat, crossing his legs and connecting more actively to the Force. 

To anyone who knew Anakin as a Jedi, seeing him meditate without direction would have been surprising.

Anakin found himself navigating the grey quagmire of the current day’s Force, attempting to hide some part of his presence beneath its murky fog. This, and fiddling with his communicator while trying to remember his access codes, was how Anakin spent the several hour trip to Naboo. 

Thus was the first nail in the coffin of his and Padmé’s relationship, for they did not see each other until the landing.

* * *

It took a couple of days to reach Naboo from Coruscant, even when taking the major hyperlanes between the two planets. Such lanes would be suicidal to travel when the war came, but Anakin hoped to be aboard ships with  _ modern  _ hyperdrives when that time came.

Anakin’s attempts at rediscovering his long-lost passcode failed, so he disembarked the starliner distinctly disgruntled. 

Naboo was as beautiful as he remembered, though certainly less depressing without the oppressive boot of the Empire crushing all life from it. Organics and droids alike filed from or into the ship under the watchful gazes of Naboo Security, heavy rotary cannons standing as a sign that the Naboo would be prepared the next time an army or assassin came knocking.

Anakin was soon joined by his companions, all of whom were clearly relieved to be freed from the murky, cramped interior of the starliner and onto familiar ground. Anakin couldn’t much share their enthusiasm, however.

He was now trapped on a planet with the very Senator he was avoiding making a connection with for the next several days, going that Obi-Wan discovered Kamino and Geonosis on schedule.

The group escaped to the back alleyways of Theed, the capital of Naboo, where they linked up with part of the Queen’s guard. Anakin, who was attempting to minimalize time spent outside the villa, put the kibosh on any plans to meet with the Queen personally or see Padmé’s family. While Anakin remembered that they did the latter, the conversation therein was vague in his memories Better to avoid it altogether.

A dark green speeder brought the group across the countryside of Naboo, which was in the middle of its summer. Rolling fields of green and vast swathes of forests did quite a bit for the planet’s natural beauty, something Anakin found himself appreciating more this time around. 

Whilst the speeder moved, Anakin went over the plan again with the two guards from Coruscant.

“No fewer than two guards to a patrol, but keep it at four whenever possible. Keep communications open at all times and  _ report in.  _ We’ll be exposed out here, and there won’t be any support within a reasonable timeframe,” Anakin yelled over the roar of the engines and whistling air. Both guards gave sharp nods in response. Evidently, their failure back on Coruscant weighing heavily on their honour as officers of the Naboo Security Forces. 

“Aren’t you being a little overzealous, Anakin?” Padmé asked, amusement lacing her voice. 

“Of course not, Senator. A lack of overzealousness nearly led to your death.” 

Their arrival at the Varykino Retreat was without much fanfare. What few staff members and guards present on the island gathered to see their arrival. Anakin, keeping security and nothing else at the forefront of his mind, quickly gathered the guards and organized the new patrol schedules and regulations. Though some seemed disgruntled by this upstart Jedi stepping in and taking control of the operation, none of them voiced as much. 

Thus, Anakin spent the remainder of the day working with the guards of Varykino. He was given a tour of the grounds, shown what few security posts were present as well as the limited armoury granted to the guards. Given that no one made an attempt on Padmé’s life during their brief stay here, Anakin supposed he could relax his expectations a little. However, this security work was the one thing standing between himself and interaction with Padmé. 

Anakin was not scared, of course. He was merely… scared, blast it all. He still loved her, more than words could ever show, but every time Anakin looked at her all he saw was their final meeting on Mustafar: with his hand closed and choking the life from the woman he loved.

Anakin… could never unsee that. Not only was it for the good of the galaxy that he released his attachment to her, but for the good of them both.

Unfortunately, Padmé did not seem to share his outlook on such things. Her suspicion radiated through the Force, made stronger by distance instead of weaker. While Anakin oversaw every minutia of security, Padmé worked tirelessly on whatever tasks she had remaining from Coruscant. In time, however, when that work slowed and she was left with more time, Padmé purposely sought Anakin out. 

It started subtle, as with all things involving Padmé, but Anakin could always play the dense Jedi to escape her attempts at conversation. Each time, he cited some security concern or meditation, which was really an excuse to tinker with his comm unit and try in increasingly futile attempts to crack his old code. 

Padmé, as was always the case with her when Anakin was decisively obtuse, eventually forwent any attempt at subtlety and approached him directly. 

“Anakin, I am going to the nearby field.”

“As you wish, Senator.”

“I would like you to come with me.”

“Senator--”

“And I am not taking no for an answer.”

“... Yes, Senator.”

That was how Anakin found himself driving a speeder across the lake the separate the Retreat and local fields, Padmé seated at his side with a basket of food in her lap. Despite Anakin’s complete avoidance of instigating romance, he still found himself stuck in a play-by-play of the events of that day.

However, while Padmé desired to know more about Anakin if her questions were anything to go by, Anakin had long since mastered the art of misdirection.

Sat in the middle of some farmer’s pasture, if the massive animals to which Anakin had forgotten the name of were any indicator, they spoke in a very one-sided conversation. 

“Shaaks,” Padmé explained at Anakin’s question, the latter lost in memories long ago as the former seemed annoyed that yet another attempt at speaking to Anakin had failed.

“Shaaks,” Anakin murmured, vaguely remembering a hamfisted attempt to impress Padmé by trying to ride one, “I regret not learning more about this planet during my time on it.”

“The Jedi don’t have archives on wildlife?” Padmé asked, sounding shocked at that revelation. Anakin waved off her concern, however.

“No, they do. It just never interested me until now.” 

Silence returned, as it had several times over the course of their conversation. Without Anakin directing it, and Padmé knowing almost nothing about him to that point that she didn’t know where to start, the silence showed no sign of stopping. 

“Blast the formality,” Padmé snapped suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Anakin. Shocked at the sudden outburst, Anakin couldn’t really formulate a response before she continued, “I don’t know what happened, but for the love of the Force, Anakin, please drop the act or whatever this is.”

“Senator--” Anakin started but was silenced by another, sharper glare form Padmé. 

“Just a few days ago, you were acting like… well, like you would expect a teenager to act. Fighting with your master, speaking informally with me. Now...”

She indicated vaguely towards a bemused Anakin, making a sound of annoyed confusion.

“I feel like I’m speaking to Palpatine.”

Anakin leaned back, careful not to fall over as he rolled her words over in his head. There were several possible approaches or responses to her accusations, ranging from denial to its polar opposite of just telling her he was from the future and the short version of what happened. The first would never work, and the second was both a horrible idea and wouldn’t work, so Anakin did the best thing he could on a snap.

He sighed, pulling together every ounce of his impressive, albeit underutilized, acting ability. Anakin met Padmé’s fiery eyes, briefly faltering under that passionate look he had fallen in love with so long ago.

“Alright, you caught me. Red handed, so to speak,” Anakin put up his hands in surrender with a small, albeit not entirely forced smile. Despite the naivety of pre-war Padmé, she was still immensely preceptive, “I have been trying to play the part of the proper Jedi. I’ll admit I was… out of place acting the way I was with Obi-Wan and you. My distraction nearly made me miss your would-be assassins. Had he not been there…”

They say the best lie is one with hints of truth, and though it hurt to lie to Padmé at all, this at least fell under the umbrella of half-truth.

“I won’t bore you with the chase, but the reality of the situation hit me that night. Powers bigger than me are at play, and I cannot be distracted by my emotions.”

Padmé was sielnt for several minutes, her shock at Anakin being so articulate clear in the slight widening of her eyes before it fell into thoughtful introspection. Anakin remained tense, however, still fearing that she would see through his ruse and become more suspicious than not. By some luck or the will of the Force itself, Padmé seemed to accept that reasoning and latched onto another part of Anakin’s words. 

“A greater power? Do you mean Dooku’s Separatist movement?” 

“That, among other things. The Republic is blinded by centuries of peace and an undisturbed position of power. The Jedi have grown complacent without the Sith constantly at their throats. For that, the people of the Outer Rim and less wealthy planets are suffering.”

That certainly stirred Padmé up, as she quickly straightened and glared at Anakin with a fire she would have a few years down the line when it came to potential peace talks between the Confederacy and Republic. 

“The Republic has stood as the guardian of peace and prosperity for centuries. To suggest that Dooku’s Separatists are better--”

“And there is the issue, Senat--  _ Padmé _ ,” Anakin amended quickly, though Padmé did not seem to notice, “I do not disagree with the Republic as an institution. I am as much a democracy-loving Jedi as the next. What I find disdainful is the bureaucracy and corruption inherent at every level. There is a reason, after all, that slavery still has its foothold in the Outer Rim, or that companies like the Trade Federation or Techno Union have so much freedom.”

“Bureaucracy is necessary in any government,” Padmé defended heatedly before her face fell some, “Though, I can’t defend the corruption or the companies… Dooku’s way is no better! Splitting the galaxy as he intends solves neither.” Padmé quickly turned the argument from what the Republic couldn’t do to what Dooku’s Confederacy would be unable to do. Padmé always had her misgivings about the Republic, those she only admit in private away from the prying ears of her rivals. However, she was a staunch Republican, and she would go down with it if that time came. Anakin had no illusions of which side she would choose when the Confederate Senate announced their official succession… 

“Dooku’s Confederacy will do just that, confederate. The biggest issue with the Republic is how slow it is. Heavy bureaucracy births stagnancy and filibustering, which in turn birth corruption, which in turn births suffering. The Senate as a whole does not care for the Outer Rim territories because, in the grand scheme of things, they are worth far less than the Core. Their hyperlanes are sparse, underregulated, and under-protected. The only protection comes from sector-based defence forces or corporate escort ships. By confederating the government, by having several smaller Senates that all send a single representative to one primary one, it streamlines the process. When the process is streamlined, corruption struggles to dig in. What’s more, it ensures each individual Senate is entirely devoted to their sector or region.”

In a manner of speaking, it worked. The Confederacy was always doomed to fail, as per the plans of Palpatine, but the likes of Lena Bonteri did their best to fix the sinking ship they were forced onto. Technically, the Empire followed the same route to greater, and more violent, affect. Power was seceded to regional governors and Moffs, who in turn answered to a Grand Moff, who in turn answer to the Emperor. Technically, the Imperial Senate fit in there somewhere, but it was only a show to keep the people subservient.

Shaking his head to clear it of those dark memories, Anakin listened to Padmé’s rebuttal.

“The Senate doesn’t ignore the Outer Rim. Myself, Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, and hundreds of others do all we can to pass bills and push for changes in those regions, we just…”

She stopped, shaking her head as the old political defeatism weighed in, or so it seemed. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that despite her youthful idealism, Padmé was one woman against a centuries-old system that didn’t want to change its ways. Even Mon Mothma and Bail Organa, for all their cries of peace and change, were part of the old guard. Their ‘Alliance to Restore the Republic’ didn’t address the issues of the Old Republic. Padmé was the youthful idealism to their old traditionalism, and Anakin had taken that form them once.

But not this time.

“I know, Padmé. Believe me, I know,” Anakin put his hand on Padmé’s, causing the young woman to jump and look at him in shock, clearly not expecting the warmth in Anakin’s words or eyes.

“You are one of the best, warmest hearted people I know, on the Senate especially. You care for those who would be written off by the galaxy, even little slave boys in junk shops,” Anakin added with a smirk, amusement and something else rising at the blush that rose of Padmé’s face before she crushed it down. His tone became serious again, “But, for every Padmé Amidala, there are a dozen Lott Dod’s. For every Bail Organa or Mon Mothma, there are ten dozen Orn Free Taa’s. Corruption has become too ingrained in the Republic for everyone to keep ignoring the issue. Serious reform is necessary if you want to save the Republic. Dooku, his allies in the movement, and… others already believe the Republic is a lost cause.”

“Others… Like you?” Padmé asked, her tone mocking but her eyes telling a far different story. She saw Anakin’s point, that much was clear, but her belief in the Republic was absolute. Anakin hadn’t really meant himself, he was more referring to the fence-sitters and Palpatine, in a vague manner. Of course, with the benefit of foresight, Anakin knew the Republic couldn’t possibly be saved with Palpatine at the helm. He needed to die, but Anakin was nowhere near ready to take that step. He hadn’t had a moment of proper lightsaber practice since his awakening, and his could barely hold his lightsaber properly considering his multitude of different styles throughout his life.

“Others like me,” Anakin said with a nod, “I fear that secession is on the horizon. Dooku and his allies had no intention of following through on the negotiations, that much is obvious even to a lowly Jedi like me. But, I’ve been wrong before. Maybe you, Padmé, and your allies can fix a government the cynical lot like myself have written off.”

“Maybe I will, just to prove you wrong,” Padmé announced, her amusement returning full force though it was clear she would be doing some thinking on Anakin’s words. Anakin returned her smile fully this time, feeling he had finally taken a step in the right direction.

“I look forwards to it.”

With that, the duo returned to the villa and went their separate ways. Anakin returned to his tinkering and meditation while Padmé worked on whatever it was she spent her time working on. Later that night, Anakin discovered the passcode of his communicator.

It was the birthdate of his mother, and with it came a host of buried memories.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Please don't sue me as I have no money.**

* * *

  
  
**The Reprisal of the Force**

**Chapter 3**

**Perspectives: Anakin Skywalker**

* * *

Anakin’s report to the Council, horribly delayed as it was, passed as quickly and painlessly as one could expect. His answers were succinct and to the point, the token brashness expected from him. In actuality, Anakin wasn’t really paying attention to the mundane report.

His thoughts lingered instead on the resurgence of memories surrounding his mother. As Vader, thoughts of Shmi Skywalker brought only pain and a sense of total failure, so much so that he repressed most thoughts of her. So deep was his denial and pitiful attempts at hiding that, even when he had returned as Anakin in the past, he was still acting under the idea that she was dead. 

To have a chance to save his mother…

It was Plo Koon that answered the call, citing Obi-Wan being off on a ‘special mission’, though not specifying what it was. Anakin was not a fool, though. The only mission Obi-Wan was part of at this point was the discovery of Kamino and the Clone army therein. Evidently, the bounty hunter had talked, but about how much remained to be seen. 

“The Senator is restless,” Anakin said, wrapping up his report, “But no further attempts have been made on her life.”

“Good, Padawan Skywalker. The Council is impressed with your work. We will contact you when it is deemed safe to return to Coruscant. If it doesn’t come, communicate with us in two week’s time.” 

“Yes, Master Koon.

“May the Force be with you, Padawan.”

“And with you, Master Koon.”

With that, Plo Koon dropped the communication. Anakin waited a moment before letting out an irritated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he set the recently unlocked communicator down. 

The report was tiresome and routine, and as painfully slow as could be expected, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

The exquisite decor of his room did little to relieve Anakin’s poor mood, so he escaped its suddenly oppressive interior for the hallway. His feet did not stop there, and without even meaning to, Anakin found himself at the beachhead. The lake was as peaceful as could be expected, shimmering only slightly with the light morning breeze. 

Anakin’s mind, however, was anything but calm. His mother, one of the crux’s of his eventual fall as well as one of the most emotionally destructive events in his life, was still alive. Had she been captured by the Tuskens yet? Had she suffered under their animalistic hands yet?

Could he still save her?

At that junction, however, Anakin was stuck. He had no means of reaching Tatooine himself without drawing the suspicion of everyone he didn’t want to, nor could he remember how he had managed to string Padmé along enough to join him. 

Blast it all! How could he remember every deriding or mocking remark Sidious made towards or about him for twenty Force-damned years, but he couldn’t remember something as personally important as this?!

Anakin narrowed his eyes as his arms fell into the familiar cross-armed pose of Vader, his stance unmoving as his mind remained in a dark turmoil. 

Alas, neither the Force nor the lake provided an answer, so it was with slumped shoulders and a defeated sigh that Anakin returned to the villa.

With the sun now well past the horizon, the staff and morning shift of guards were already up and moving. Both groups bowed their heads respectfully towards the former Jedi, but did not speak to him as if they could sense his sour mood.

Anakin’s trek, which was as directionless as he felt at the present moment, happened to see him passing the dining area he and Padmé used. It also just so happened that Padmé was in there herself, enjoying the morning’s breakfast.

“Anakin, there you are,” She said with some relief, though she was looking at him somewhat differently now, “Would you care for something to eat?”

Anakin nearly refused her offer, fearing that his sour attitude would be obvious to her especially. He was stopped, though, by a plan formulating somewhere in his mind not overgrown with self-loathing and anger.

Padmé seemed to notice his indecision, concern marring her beautiful face as she made to rise.

“Anakin? Is something wrong?”

Another moment of indecision passed before Anakin stepped into the room, self-loathing about deceiving Padmé matching his desperation to save his mother. Despite his promise to let go of his past life, to become what he needed to be to stop Sidious, he couldn’t let his mother die.

Not again.

* * *

Padmé was worryingly easy to convince. Anakin had claimed to have a vision from the Force about his mother’s impending doom, playing it off as something he was concerned about but not actively working against. In a manner of speaking, it was Padmé who convinced him to go to Tatooine, or as far as she was concerned.

Anakin’s excuse of the Jedi not having attachments and the worrisome implications therein seemed to poison Padmé’s view towards the Order somewhat, though Anakin did not press further. He still wasn’t completely sure on how he would deal with the Jedi Order, or if he should do anything at all. They were dogmatic, backwards, and painfully hypocritical, but at the present moment, they were one of Anakin’s few allies against Palpatine, even if they didn’t know it yet. The Order needed massive change if it was going to survive the Clone Wars, but how Anakin would do that remained a mystery to him.

Those thoughts were put aside, however, as Anakin brought the Nubian yacht out of hyperspace near the planet of Tatooine. He sent the necessary access codes to the limited ‘defence force’, owned and operated by the local Hutt Cartel under Jabba, allowing them access to the planet’s surface.

How strange it was that all lanes seem to lead to Tatooine for Anakin, no matter what stage of life he was at or what he was doing. His birth, his mother, his son, all of it came back to this little-known, desert blasted orb in the Arkanis sector. How many common people even knew the planet existed? Perhaps only those seeking the Geonosisians, but that was an extremely low number.

At least, for now.

The yacht drifted gracefully towards the spaceport of Mos Espa, commanded by Anakin’s tremendous skill behind any space crafts’ controls. 

Anakin’s tension and desperation were palpable, and though he wanted nothing more than to rush to his mother’s aid, he was faced with many dilemmas. Namely: he couldn’t remember the path to reach the Tusken camp in the middle of nowhere nor where the Lars’ farm was. What’s more, even if he did know, rushing off to the exact location of his mother’s imprisonment would draw some confusion and suspicion from Padmé. 

Perhaps she would see nothing too strange about it, but what if someone from the Order figured learned of his speed at finding his lost mother? That kind of heat, to use a Corellian term, was certainly not something he needed.

“Wait here. I’ll return when I find my mother, for better or for worse.” Anakin announced to the other occupants of the ship, throwing a cloak around his shoulders before making sure the lightsaber at his hip was secure and obscured.

“I’m coming with you,” Padmé announced, meeting him at the boarding ramp of the yacht with a cloak of her own. It was far more ostentatious than Anakins, a far cry from the handmaiden outfit she used the last time she was on Tatooine. Anakin, however, was still leaning to the side of caution.

“Out of the question, Senat-- Padmé. Tatooine is a very dangerous planet.” Anakin said as diplomatically as he could manage, which was not saying much seeing as he was still favouring the toneless authority of Vader. Blast, that only served to remind him that he needed to practice with his lightsaber at some point.

“That is inadvisable, Senator.” One of the guards announced at roughly the same time as Anakin, stepping forward from the hallway Padmé had with a concerned expression, “Tatooine is home to the Hutt Cartel, slavers and criminals. Someone of your station--”

“I’ve been on the planet before,” Padmé responded with a slightly annoyed expression on her face as she stared defiantly up at Anakin, her eyes brooking no argument, “I’m coming with you whether you want me to or not.”

Now, Anakin could bring up the handmaiden excuse last time, among any number of safety concerns, but the look in Padmé’s eyes told him in no uncertain terms that she was coming along for the ride. It was a losing battle no matter how he cut it, so Anakin decided to just surrender and remain content with the knowledge that nothing untoward happened last time.

“Stay with the ship. I’ll keep an eye on the Senator.” Anakin turned to face the guard, his authoritative tone seeming to override the man’s desire to protect the Senator. It was one of the few advantages granted to him by his time as Vader.

“Yes, sir.”

Tatooine’s atmosphere was as dry and hot as Anakin remembered, dragging more memories from the depths of his mind from his life as a slave. The long hard hours at Watto’s shop and the countless hungry nights, but also his mother and the pod races. He was as different a man as he could get this time around, and yet these memories caused a flood of emotions Anakin had forgotten how to process. Joy, sadness, contentment, all of these were as alien to Anakin now as emotions could get. He needed a moment to get his bearings, something Padmé noticed and respected with silence. Soon, however, desperation won out and Anakin led the way to a taxi service.

The droid operator accepted the Republic credits from Anakin and dragged them through the well-travelled roads of Mos Espa. Aliens and humans alike moved alongside droids, headed one way or another, completely uncaring about the Senator and former Jedi. It was a new feeling, not being recognized and inherently feared, but Anakin was beginning to enjoy it.

“It hasn’t changed much,” Padmé finally said, evidently wanting to end the silence that had grown between them. Anakin was not of the same mindset but humoured her nonetheless. 

“Mos Espa is an old spaceport with older rulers, they won’t be in a hurry to change anything,” Anakin explained, spying Cartel thugs dressed in cheap body armour and armed with old, rusted blasters. Some even wielded blackjacks and swords, brandishing the weapons not to look skilled but to seem intimidating.

The effect was lost on Anakin.

“I see,” Padmé murmured as the cart passed into a far more dreary, run-down part of the town. Instantly, she seemed to remember just what part Anakin came from, and where his mother was supposed to be.

“Some things never change,” Anakin’s words almost came out as a growl, memories of forgotten promises and lost chances forgoing any attempt at reestablishing a rapport. 

Slave watched from windows and side streets, instantly suspicious of the two newcomers arriving via cart. Children scurried away as they passed and the elderly fell silent, eyeing the duo with equal parts bemusement and fear. The arrival of two well-dressed people in the slave quarters was rare and never was it a good thing. 

Anakin returned their stares as neutrally as he could, neither confirming nor denying their clear fears. It was never good to give the disenfranchised hope, he had learned, when there was no guarantee of bringing them up from their situation. 

Padmé was not of the same mindset, it seemed. Her far more kind upbringing, paired with her latent need to help as many people as possible, saw the young Senator waving at the passing slaves and lower-class individuals. Her kindness only served to earn her more terrified looks from the slaves and contemplating leers from the more criminally inclined. Padmé recoiled as if struck when a slave, an elderly man missing both a leg and an arm, opening spat at her.

“We are outsiders here, Padmé,” Anakin said when she turned to look at him. Anakin returned his gaze to the front of their cart, watching the droid pulling them along passively, “They are only used to cruelty and hidden intentions form outsiders.” 

“How… horrible.” Padmé murmured, glancing about again though focusing on the rundown homes and obviously armed thugs patrolling the streets, “I can’t believe the Republic lets them get away with this…”

“Tatooine might not be in Hutt Space, but it is still a fiefdom for scum and villainy, and protected by Hutt pocketbooks,” Anakin said as the cart came to a stop outside a worn, nameless storefront. Despite its complete lack of distinguishing features, Anakin recognised it with an equal mix of scorn and nostalgia. 

The interior was only slightly cooler than outside, though it was refreshingly shaded from the twin suns of Tatooine. 

The shop, though it more closely resembled a junkyard than a shop, was as much a mess as Anakin remembered, though much of the junk was different from the last time he was here. Pit Droids and the battered machine parts hung from the walls and were littered across the floors with no clear organisation attempted.

The flapping of wings drew Anakin’s attention to the centre of the main room, spying the floating form of Watto. The Toydarian was conversing with a pair of Jawas, and evidently the conversation had grown sour.

“ _ No less than fifty! _ ” Watto snapped in Huttese at the two squat aliens, who responded rapidly in their strange language. Anakin had never learned more than a few words of the language of the Jawas, but whatever it was they said clearly served only to infuriate Watto further.

“ _ You expect me to make a profit from that? What do you think I am, a twi’lek? _ ”

The larger of the two Jawas threw their hands up and hissed something out at Watto. Both turned on their heels and marched out of the store, right past Anakin and a bemused Padmé.

“ _ Eh, good riddance, _ ” Watto called after the duo, his beady eyes quickly finding Anakin and Padmé, “ _ What do you want, boy? _ ”

“ _ Greetings, Watto, _ ” Anakin responded with a dip of his head, flinching inwardly at his butchered pronunciation and overly formal way of speaking. 

“‘ _Greetings’?_ _No-one says ‘greetings’ anymore, boy,_ ” Watto chuckled, shaking his head as he flew closer, “ _Who are you?_ ”

“ _ I am here for Shmi Skywalker, _ ” Anakin responded in lieu of giving his name, stepping forward. Watto froze at that, his gaze becoming unfocused for a moment or two. The unfocused expression became a confused one before that, finally, evolved into recognition.

“ _Ani?_ ” Watto asked quietly, narrowing his eyes as he studied Anakin’s features. Pleased with what he saw, and because Anakin did not refute the name, Watto repeated himself, “ _Ani!_ _Ah, look at how you’ve sprouted._ ”

Anakin continued to stare at the toydarian with a passive expression, but his patience was already running thin.

“ _ Hey, do you think-- _ ” The toydarian started, but Anakin put a hand to silence him. It was a challenge to not fall back on old practices like using the Force to choke compliance into the diminutive alien. 

“ _ Do not test my patience, Watto. My mother, where is she? _ ” Perhaps it was Anakin’s tone, or maybe it was his presence, but despite the fact that he was no longer as large as Vader, Watto took him very seriously. 

“ _ She was bought by the Lars’, they have a moisture farm out on the Great Chott plains, in the Jundland Wastes. A few kilometres to the east. _ ” Watto spouted in rapid succession, floating back and eyeing Anakin with a mix of fear and confusion. Anakin, however, no longer cared what the toydarian did or how he felt, the names of the Lars’ farm’s location sounding equal parts familiar as it did foreign. 

Anakin didn’t say another word to the old slavemaster, spinning on his heel with his cloak billowing out behind him. He marched out of the shop, Padmé trailing with a confused air about her.

“Where is the nearest speeder rental?” Anakin asked of the droid pilot of their cart. Its clicks and whistles pointed him in the direction of such a shop at the edge of the town, luckily on the side where he needed to go.

“You can return to the ship, but this is something I need to deal with,” Anakin said over his shoulder to Padmé. There was none of the pseudo-friendliness in his voice from before. It was harder, colder, more commanding. Decades of mannerisms could not just be unlearned, and this situation called for control.

As if Padmé could sense the tenuous grip Anakin had on his emotions, she spoke softly and slowly.

“I’ve come this far, Anakin. I won’t leave you here.” 

Though he could not vocalize as much, Anakin was thankful.

* * *

The Lars’ homestead was a rundown, sandblasted thing, but it was clearly well cared for by its current owners. In a way, Anakin regretted not ever learning more about his step-father’s family, but something told him he’d have even less time the second time around.

Cliegg was welcoming of Anakin and Padmé, especially once he learned who Anakin was. Owen remained distinctly suspicious of the duo, though it was an endearing character trait in a mundane sort of way.

They spoke briefly, namely about Shmi and her short few years with Cliegg. It was heartwarming to hear she was freed sooner than Anakin had expected, but the time for reminiscing could come after she was saved. 

Cliegg could only point in the general direction of where she was taken by the Raiders, but Anakin found his own leads soon enough. Borrowing a speeder bike from Owen, who seemed hesitant to part with it, Anakin was racing along the featureless badlands of Tatooine. Passing Jawas and farmers on the way to sell their wares could only point Anakin in the direction of the nearest Tusken camp.

As the evening passed into night, Anakin finally arrived at the camp. It was massive, he realized, so much so that he was almost impressed his younger self had managed to butcher the entire camp. He caught himself then, mildly disturbed how almost…  _ amused  _ he had become at the thought of butchering the sand people. They were little more than animals, beasts and raiders that wandered the deserts to prey on the innocent and destitute, but Anakin could not fall into his darker urges.

He found the tent his mother was hidden in through the Force, her signature standing out like a sun among the empty void of space. 

However, it was a dimming light. When he found her, in his heart Anakin knew he was already too late. Crucified upon a wooden palisade, she seemed to only just be hanging on to life. Anakin crept into the building, sensing only the guards outside. 

“Ani?” She asked as Anakin cradled her in his arms. Her life was fading, he could feel it through the Force.

“Ani, is that you?”

Two decades of Dark side training, another as a Jedi, and still, he could do nothing. The Force itself gave him a second chance, and he failed to save one of the few people he cared for above all else. 

He had failed again.

“I’m here, mom. It’s okay,” Anakin spoke softly, only barely hiding his sorrow as she seemed to slip away. Her body went limp, and Shmi Skywalker was no more.

Anakin could only hold her lifeless body, staring at her marred face for several long seconds. In some way, he knew this was going to happen. He knew she would die, because saving her was not his purpose in being sent back. He was here to save the galaxy from Palpatine. He had already sworn off his past connections, but he had failed that task as well.

His mother was always doomed to die, even if he arrived a few days early. She was just holding out for him.

The siren call of the Dark side, riding on his self-loathing and depression, festered both emotions in rage and hate. He could not lash out against himself…

But he could against the Raiders.

Despite swearing not to fall so easily into the Dark, to maintain a balance between the two sides of the Force, Anakin submerged himself into the Darkside. Briefly, Anakin Skywalker was no more.

Vader had returned.

* * *

There was a vast difference between how a younger Anakin used the Dark side versus how Vader used in, especially in his later years. Where Anakin was like a vortex, lashing out and attacking anything and everything in sight, Vader was a controlled wall of hate. His anger was directed, without the wild slashing or lack of control other adepts of the Dark were.

When he unleashed the full brunt of his powers against the Tusken Raiders, the battle was short and brutal. The remains of the Raiders, every single occupant of the camp, were dead and scattered, their blood staining the sand and huts. 

Anakin’s anger was not abated, however, but he did regain control of it. At a slow trudge, he made his way to the middle of the camp with his mother’s body in his arms. He was stained with the blood of the Raiders, but he didn’t care. 

Falling to his knees, he looked to Shmi’s face wordlessly. She was colder now, her warmth vanishing with the twin suns leaving only the clamminess of a corpse. In a way, it grounded Anakin. It reminded him of his true purpose, but it did not stop the agony in his heart for the second time. There was no screaming of anger or loss, no more lashing out. He had failed, and the Tuskens paid the price of his failure with their lives. He had drowned himself in the Dark side for what he hoped was the last time, though some niggling part of his mind warned Anakin that this would not be the last test of his willpower.

Next time he failed, he might not be able to return.

He was not a Jedi, and he would never again be a Sith. Anakin struggled to name what he was anymore but left that thought for another day.

Shmi’s body was wrapped in a large cloth looted from a storage hut. With her body secured to the back seat of the speeder, Anakin left the camp behind for the scavengers of Tatooine’s badlands. 

The ride back to the Lars homestead allowed Anakin time to ruminate on something, anything, other than his mother. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else, his mind always came back to the fate of his mother. In time, he eventually gave up trying and fell deeper into his depressed quagmire.

The sun had begun to rise when Anakin returned to the Lars homestead, being greeted by Padmé and Cliegg. The latter seemed to have accepted his wife was already dead and took her body with a morose silence. Padmé remained at Anakin’s side, not speaking yet exuding a calm, kind presence he so desperately needed.

His mother’s funeral was a small affair, Owen and his wife, Beru, joining the trio already present. Anakin knelt before her grave, his emotions far more controlled now yet still lingering on his second failed attempt to save his mother.

Her headstone was blank of any distinguishing marks, looking completely the same as the stone belonging to Cliegg’s brother. It held none of her loving personality, none of her joy, none of her highs or lows. It was a rock, a placeholder for someone who should have been alive, would have been alive if he had been stronger, or been faster, or had just remembered where.

Anakin remained kneeling before that simple grave for numerous hours, his company eventually leaving to escape the heat of Tatooine’s suns or set about their daily work. Anakin did not eat nor drink, for he had no desire to. He merely wanted to continue his vigil, his final chance to rest beside the mother he had failed twice over and abandoned twice that many times. 

The suns were beginning to set when Cliegg, favouring his uninjured leg and hobbling along with the help of a staff, moved up alongside Anakin. No words were said as they both stared at the headstone, the final reminder of the woman they both loved. Finally, Cliegg put one calloused hand on Anakin’s shoulder, ruffling the unkempt cloak he still wore with a kind squeeze.

“Come on, son.” Was all Cliegg said, his voice not holding the pity Anakin expected, but a remorseful understanding. Anakin did not need further encouragement, nor did he reject the act of kindness form the kindly farmer. Anakin rose and, with one final glance to the grace of his mother, allowed himself to be led back into the homestead. 

He arrived in time to join the Lars family and Padmé for dinner. It was seeing the food, lovingly prepared by Beru, that Anakin was reminded of his hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. He had been awake for over two days, hadn’t drunken anything since leaving Mos Espa, and hadn’t eaten for longer.

A hush fell over the Lars’ upon Anakin’s arrival at the table, all eyes falling on him as if they were expecting…  _ something  _ from him.

Anakin pushed down his depression and anger, it would not do to lash out against the family, who have shown him nothing but kindness. They were not at fault for the death of his mother. So Anakin’s face morphed from a scowl, one filled with anger and loss, to the barest smile.

“Apologies for tracking in the sane,” Anakin said, his voice soft yet amused as he lifted one arm, letting the grains flow from his sleeves, “I forgot how irritating it was.”

The tension passed with his weak, albeit heartfelt, attempt at levity. Owen snapped at him good-naturedly, Beru chastised the man, Padmé shook her head in wonder.

All was good.

* * *

The next morning came with an especially great wave of heat. Not even Owen or Cliegg dared brave its fury, so the five of them, including C-3PO, were trapped in the homestead. 

Anakin took that time to meditate in the room given to him and Padmé. The floor had been… uncomfortable, but after twenty years as Vader, it was heavenly in comparison. 

His emotions were as tumultuous as could be expected, but it did not take long for Anakin to centre himself. He found purpose in his plans to save the galaxy from a fate worse than the Clone Wars, and in that purpose, he found a sort of peace. It was ironic, that a former Sith Lord who had struggled for so long with finding peace, did so easily now. It was the sort of peace Yoda or even Obi-Wan would hardly call  _ peaceful _ , but blast it all, he was trying.

Padmé had busied herself with a task of her own, giving Anakin space to meditate as he desired. Apparently, she was attempting to finish C-3PO with the help of Owen and Beru. It was an admirable effort, seeing as none of them knew much about droids.

Anakin, with his ‘inner peace’ partially established, turned his mind to other equally pressing trains of thought. The first of which was his lightsaber style.

Technically, Anakin still favoured Form V, as he had as both Vader and a younger Anakin. In both cases, it was a heavily adapted version of Djem-So and Shien. Considering that as both Vader and Anakin, he spent much of his time fighting blaster wielding foes, it was not a bad choice. As Vader, the lack of nonaggressive footwork in Form V worked well in his favour, as the movement required for most other forms was bordering on the impossible.

Now, however, Anakin was not so limited in how he could move. An entire galaxy of possibilities were open to him, yet he still fell into the tried-and-true Vader Form V.

Maybe he could pull on his rusty skills in the other forms, like two or three? Seeing as he could now move at a reasonable pace, perhaps more movement-focused lightsaber Forms would be in his best interest? Simply put, the form of Djem-So that he used as Vader was too slow for Anakin now, especially since he lacked the physical strength and ‘protection’ of his old suit.

It would be amusing to use Form two, if only to see the sort of reaction Dooku would give to his favoured Form being used by Anakin Skywalker of all people.

That thought was for another day, as he couldn’t just practice his forms in the middle of someone’s house, especially since his spatial awareness would be best described as nonexistent.

As Vader, he didn’t need to worry about his mass, namely because he was so used to where he was going to be and due to the fact that he simply didn’t care. The destruction of property and injury of unfortunate bystanders was what he would quite aptly call ‘someone else’s problem’, but Anakin was going for less of a ‘dark and intimidating’ look nowadays.

Anakin was smaller than Vader in just about every way that mattered, and he weighed less to boot.

By the evening, the heat abated and allowed the Lars to quickly tend to their moisture evaporators. Anakin, hoping to be a gracious guest, offered his engineering skill in their endeavour. That was one of the few skills he had as a younger man that did not atrophy over time as Vader. Not only out of necessity, for the only person Vader trusted to fix his suit was himself, but also as one of his few remaining hobbies he allowed himself… Correction, one of the few non-violent hobbies he allowed himself. There was something cathartic about putting together a starfighter or changing one to fit his preferences.

Cliegg could only sing Anakin’s praises, openly asking Anakin if he wanted a job on the homestead. Even Owen, as gruff as he usually was, became openly shocked at how easily Anakin repaired and tended to the evaporators. Really, they were far more simple to Anakin than any starfighter or droid he had ever built, C-3PO being the walking proof of that.

The time was cut short, however, when a communication reached Anakin. Obi-Wan spoke of droid armies being constructed on Geonosis and a separatist plot between Dooku, the major corporations, and the founding members of the Confederacy. It seemed things were progressing as Anakin remembered. The worry Anakin had felt when Obi-Wan was captured last time was abated some by the fact that he had survived then with limited action on Anakin’s part.

Yet, despite his lack of worry, Anakin felt as if something unseen was trying to push him into saving his former Master. Something major and game-changing would happen if Anakin went to Geonosis, though what remained a mystery even to him. He didn’t  _ want  _ to deal with Dooku or purge the Confederate leadership, they were necessary in his growing plan to destroy Sidious. Their war, justified though it was, was under the indirect control of Palpatine through Dooku. His distraction when manipulating them could help Anakin’s plans… So why did he feel it necessary to go to that blasted planet?

“I can’t leave him there,” Anakin declared when the Nubian officer that forwarded the communique to them ended the call.

“We won’t,” Padmé declared, pulling out her own communicator and reconnecting with the bemused Nubian officer. Though the officer warned them that Windu had responded with orders to stay put, neither Anakin nor Padmé was very inclined to listen.

Anakin was hesitant in bringing Padmé to what would soon be a battlefield, one part because he was worried he would mess up the timeline enough to get her killed and another because he was trying to avoid any romantic entanglements with the Senator. Alas, her yacht was the only expedient way for Anakin to reach Geonosis, and leaving Padmé was comépletely out of the question.

He would figure something out when they arrived on Geonosis.

The yacht arrived in record time, landing near the Lars’ homestead. Cliegg, Beru, and Owen gave their best wishes and hopes for success, despite not really understanding ANakins haste to go. 

Anakin gave his mother one last farewell while promising, one day, to return. 

“Oh, are you leaving already, Master Anakin?” Asked a morose and lost C-3PO, resplendent now in his silvery chassis. Pausing for a moment, Anakin allowed himself the barest smirk. Turning to face C-3PO, he nodded up the ramp.

“Oh, come on, Threepio.”

* * *

Geonosis was not very different from Tatooine, at least in so far as the hostile population and completely desert surface. Warships of varying sizes and origins floated in the planet’s orbit, receiving massive convoys of transports carrying Force knew how many battle droids. 

Padmé was horrified, her shock at seeing the massive war fleet ringing across the tenuous Force connection between her and Anakin. In a sense, Anakin shared that sadness. While he did not detest violence as the Jedi did, he found the significant loss of life from the Clone Wars disgusting. The fact that it fell among the things that he could not change irked the former Sith. The fact that it was a necessary evil irked the growing Jedi part of his mind.

The yacht passed unharassed through the sizable blockade, the ships likely not looking out for trespassers or simply not caring. They found the nearest landing pad, one that looked poorly maintained and rarely patrolled. The complete lack of guards, which had not registered to Anakin the first time, only served to concern him as a wiser man.

“Take the ship back to Naboo,” Anakin ordered one of the officers in a vain attempt to make Padmé go somewhere safe. He drew a cloak over his shoulders, “Protect the Senator until I can return.”

“I’m coming with you,” Padmé protested, rising from her own seat and moving to her bedroom.

“Senator, that is inadvisable--” One of the guards protested, following her alongside Anakin.

“Padmé, this is a dangerous mission--”

Padmé’s glare silenced their vocal objections. She quickly returned to her rummaging through a closet in her room, evidently seeking a cloak of her own. Admirable though that was, pure white stood out a lot more against red than Anakin’s brown robes. Not that he vocalized as much.

“I am accustomed to danger, Anakin,” Padmé retorted, “And I can’t let you go by yourself.”

Anakin nearly growled in annoyance, finding Padmé’s hardheadedness as endearing as he did exasperating. Glancing to his left, Anakin spotted the Senator’s blaster, discarded until she could put a proper holster on. A thought, sickening though it was, flooded his mind.

He had to keep her safe, if only because she was one of the few checks against Palpatine’s power. Well, there was one way to kill any romance, he supposed...

Grabbing the pistol, Anakin flipped the switch on the side. Before the guard or Padmé could even realize what was going on, a ring of blue engulfed the young Senator. She toppled in an undignified heap in front of her closet.

“What in the blazes?!” The Nubian officer snapped, hand shooting for his own pistol as Anakin threw down Padmé’s. The man paused, seeming conflicted on jumping to his Senator’s defence and picking a fight with a lightsaber-wielding Force user. So, Anakin made the choice for him.

“Get the Senator back to Naboo, do not let any further harm reach her. Am I understood?”

“I--” The man looked from Anakin to the unconscious Padmé before sighing in defeat and releasing his pistol, “Yes, sir.”

With a brisk nod, Anakin turned about and made his way to the exit ramp of the ship. Artoo, located near the ramp, gave a low, worried whistle. The little blue astromech was worried for Anakin, both emotionally and because of the impending danger he was about to throw himself headfirst into.

Anakin knelt next to the small droid, patting his head with a telling smirk.

“Protect her for me, will you? Something tells me I’ll be a little busy to do it myself.” Artoo whistled an affirmative, wishing Anakin good luck in the same tune before rolling away. 

Anakin’s smile fell away, watching yet another important part of his life leave. 

Refusing to dwell more than he absolutely had to, Anakin pulled up his hood and escaped the yacht. The new pilot, the younger of the two guards, didn’t waste a moment escaping the landing pad. The fleeing ship blasted Anakin with sand and debris, but he was gone fast enough for it not to matter. 

He had to smart this time around, charging in blindly would only serve to see him captured or worse. Anakin needed to survive to--

Again, the idea of being here was imposed upon him, and only now did Anakin realize it was the Force itself. To what end? It was not the drive to save Obi-Wan, there was some other reason he was here… An opportunity would make itself known, he he would have the choice to take it or not.

Anakin could only sigh in defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Why could the Force not just be direct in its cryptic nonsense? Stowing away that question for a later date, Anakin drew his lightsaber and entered the first room of the Geonosian base. Air, hot and dusty, blasted him the moment the door opened, nearly causing the former Sith to start coughing. That would certainly not help his attempt at stealth--

Clicking and the hum of armed weapons told Anakin stealth was never an option. With a dejected sigh, Anakin ignited his lightsaber.

They really should have taken the chance to shoot him while they could.

* * *

There was something cathartic about marching through an enemy base like a one-man army. Even as Vader, it was one of his guilty pleasures to march through hordes of rebels and criminal scum, slashing through them while deflecting every blaster bolt sent his way. While Anakin doubted he could do that now, given that he still fought like Vader without the size or intimidation.

Luckily, the sonic weapons of the Geonosians, while far more devastating, fired slower than blasters. While blocking them was… ill-advised, Anakin could move at a reasonable speed again. What started as stiff turns and ducks became skilful twirls and acrobatic flips, Anakin falling back into his classic acrobatics. 

The Geonosians could do nothing to slow him down, those few armed with melee weapons not standing a chance against Anakin.

Despite his intimidating presence and tide of death, Anakin was really just wandering around. He had no idea where Obi-Wan was supposed to be held and the featureless Geonisian crypt did not have a massive sign pointing him in the right direction. 

Anakin decided to ask for directions, as any reasonable human would. 

Using the Force to grab the throat of one Geonosian, who seemed to be debating just abandoning its position and going the other direction as fast as it could, Anakin lifted the unfortunate bug up and dispatched its kin with a few masterful slashes and swipes.

Only when the last Geonosian fell with a scream of agony did Anakin lower his prisoner to eye level.

“The Jedi, where is he being held?” Anakin asked almost pleasantly, a distinct change from the simmering rage he felt in his heart. The Geonosian clicked and whistled desperately for a second before pointing down the direction he and his ilk came from. Following the extended digit, Anakin only saw another featureless tunnel twisting about.

“How awful specific,” Anakin drawled, returning his eyes to the insectoid face of his prisoner. Perhaps sensing his impending death should he not answer in a way Anakin wanted, the Geonosian desperately clicked, one hand grasping at Anakin’s offending hand while the other indicated towards itself.

“Lead me,” Anakin barked, pleasantness was forgotten as he threw the Geonosian in the direction he had pointed. The Geonosian gave a quick nod before hobbling long. The two of them passed through the dizzying hallways and tunnels before entering an atrium where numerous more Geonosians awaited, though they seemed to be as surprised at seeing Anakin as his guide was at seeing them.

He wasn’t much concerned about their sudden movement and barked warnings, the Force signature of Obi-Wan was now distinguishable among all of the Geonosians. 

Grabbing his now-former guide with the Force, Anakin hurled the suddenly terrified Geonosian at its kin. Two were barreled over by the flailing third and toppled over in a heap of limbs. Anakin followed behind his makeshift projectile, easily slashing through the pikes of the nearest two guards. They were finished with another perfected slash, though Anakin was gone before their bodies even hit the floor. The remaining guards, armed with sonic weapons, tried and failed to kill Anakin. Dodging a few blasts, Anakin pulled the three of them down from their perches and into his twirling blade. 

Walking past the discombobulated trio of Geonosians, Anakin slashed through the lot of them without so much as look down. Their cries passed right over him, the former Sith making a pointed effort to avoid feeding his blood lust.

With the press of a button, Anakin was faced with Obi-Wan floating uselessly in the centre of the room.

“Anakin?!” Obi-Wan demanded, his eyes widening in surprise and no small amount of anger, “What are you doing here? It’s a trap--” 

Anakin was already moving, slashing his lightsaber through the Geonosian on the left side of the door. Cursing his stupidity for not checking if the room was clear first, Anakin roared in anger as a jolt of electricity flashed through his body.

Anakin twist and went to slash his last foe, but his lightsaber did not meet a fleshy Geonosian. It met a crackling electrostaff mid-swing, sending both weapons bouncing away.

Standing a full head over Anakin was a Magneguard, its yellow staff and eyes indicative of Count Dooku’s personal guard. He wasn’t given time to ruinate over the droid’s being there, as Anakin was forced to jump back as it swung the other end of its staff at his head.

The droid launched itself after Anakin, staff twirling in a deadly vortex of crackling energy. Each of its strikes was as fast as it was strong, trying to overrun Anakin’s guard by sheer speed. Had Anakin not been as fast as he was, the droid would have won this fight in the opening strikes. Still, he did not like his odds. He simply wasn’t fast enough yet to meet the droid’s onslaught, nor was he strong enough to overpower it.

It was only a matter of time before the droid exploited a weakness in his defence, and that came after a sloppy high guard. Anakin blocked another strike at his head, but he droid changed directions and struck his gut with the other end of its staff.

The combination of the air being forced from his lungs and the jolt of electricity pushed Anakin to his knees. His spluttering was ended by the droid’s final strike, which slammed into the side of his head.

* * *

Anakin came to after an indiscernible amount of time, finding himself in the same position as Obi-Wan only with a pair of Magneguards watching him. Both were armed with staves and heavy blasters, their unflinching gazes locked onto Anakin. His lightsaber was nowhere to be seen, though as he had just proven, Anakin was in no condition to be fighting the droids.

How embarrassing. 

Not too long after his reawakening, a small army of obviously terrified Geonosians arrived to collect Anakin. Them, combined with the still silent droids, seemed slightly overkill to Anakin, but then again he had slaughtered dozens of Geonosians on his way to Obi-Wan.

The dizzying series of tunnels led to a large conference room, one occupied by the very man behind the Confederacy, Count Dooku of Serenno. At his back were another pair of Magneguards, both clutching their staves tightly.

“You have caused quite a mess,” Dooku murmured in a pleasant enough tone, though his eyes were filled with cool disdain for the young man across from him. Anakin didn’t answer immediately, allowing himself to be pushed down into the seat across from the Sith.

“So I’ve been told. I believe this reflects more poorly on your security than it does my skill,” Anakin retorted as pleasantly as Dooku, though with undertones of derision on his end as well. Dooku’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly but did not let Anakin’s words colour his own. 

“Archduke Poggle the Lesser would have me execute you for your murder of several Geonosian soldiers.”

“Perhaps, but the unjustified arrest of a Jedi on a mission neither sanctioned nor overseen by the Republic called for desperate measures, lest he is executed in your rebellious fervour.” Was Anakin’s equal acerbic response, though his mind was focused on the task of scanning Dooku. Dooku’s presence in the Force was touched by the Darkness but was not as enveloped as Anakin had expected the former Jedi Master to be. Had Dooku not fallen as far as he would later in the war, or had he never truly been a Sith? Anakin tried for the life of him to remember if Dooku had ever had the corrupted eyes of a Sith Lord.

He was conflicted now, for while Dooku would eventually be a leading factor behind some of the greatest atrocities of the war, Anakin could not in good faith kill him. If Dooku could be turned from the Dark side, to be shown a better balance of the Dark and Light that Anakin now prescribed to…

Anakin’s musings were ended by Dooku, who had leaned forwards with an unknown glint in his eyes.

“You call it rebellious fervour, young Skywalker, but I can sense the conflict within you. You’ve seen the issues within the Republic and Jedi, haven’t you?” Dooku spoke with the smooth confidence of a practised politician, his words holding a moving quality to them, “You have your doubts in regards to their ability.”

Anakin was stumped for a long second. Where in the name of the Force had Dooku gotten that from, Anakin’s mind would never be that easy to read nor did he have such radical notions-- Wait. Dooku wasn’t sensing Anakin doubt in regards to the Republic. No, the former Jedi was sensing Anakin;s hesitation to kill him. Likely unable to decipher the true target of Anakin’s conflict, he had merely extrapolated that Anakin shared his viewpoints.

“I do,” Anakin agreed almost numbly, not really sure if you should laugh in the Count’s face or cry at the odds that the man assumed Anakin shared his ideals, “But I want to believe there is a peaceful way to help the Outer Rim and avoid the war you are preparing for.”

“I believed much the same as you do, young Skywalker,” Dooku spoke softer now with an unseen kindness that left Anakin speechless, mostly given the memories of their history together, “But I was awoken to the truth of the Republic’s corruption and the Jedi’s complacency. You were a slave, you’ve seen what the Republic allow and the Jedi ignore with your own eyes. The Republic cannot be reformed; I’ve searched for a way myself. Only through tearing down the corrupted husk and rebuilding a better democracy can the galaxy truly be free.”

Anakin met Dooku’s eyes confidently, realizing why he was here now. The Force had guided him to this point, to this conversation for a mind-boggling reason: it wanted to give him the chance to join Dooku. It was ludicrous, of course, Dooku and Anakin working together would be like throwing gasoline into a fire-- A fire that would be dangerous to one Sith who would go unnamed…

The potential of such an alliance, even one of necessity, was tempting beyond all belief. What’s more, Anakin saw the truth in much of what the Count said. The galaxy was suffering outside the Core, but the Republic remained blind to it in their opulence and profiteering. While Vader had cared little for the plight of those unfortunate souls, Anakin was a better man now, a changed man thanks to the efforts of his never-to-be-born son.

To turn Dooku back from the Dark’s siren call, to bring relief to those in the unfortunate regions of the galaxy… Anakin could redeem himself and cripple Palpatine’s plans all in one fell swipe…

Memories came unbidden from the Clone Wars, both good and bad. Anakin would never train Ahsoka if he joined Dooku, he would never meet Rex or have Luke and Leia with Padmé. His friendship with Obi-Wan would never blossom, and the Order would be fractured further by a ‘Jedi’ of Anakin’s calibre deserting them over their inaction. It was insane, impossible even, for all of his plans to work.

But then again, time-travel was also supposed to be impossible.

“What would you have of me?” Anakin asked softly, meeting Dooku’s steely gaze with one of his own. The barest smirk crossed Dooku’s lips, his arrogant confidence oozing off of the Count in droves.

“Join me, and together we can save the galaxy.”

How ironic, the phrasing of those words.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated this chapter a bit at the end, so enjoy this until I can get the next chapter out

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Please don’t sue me as I have no money.**

* * *

  
  


**The Reprisal of the Force**

**Chapter 4**

**Perspectives: Sev’rance Tann**

* * *

The Rogue-Class Heavy Fighter was a cumbersome ship, sacrificing speed for heavy firepower as the name suggested. Still, it served as a faster-than-average way to get across the galaxy, when one did not want to deal with moving a cumbersome frigate about.

Sev’rance, trusted lieutenant of Count Dooku, Dark Side adept, and soon-to-be Supreme Commander of the Separatist Armada (or so she suspected), dropped her large fighter out of hyperspace. Displayed before her was the verdant planet of Serenno, the spiritual capital of the Alliance and home of her master. The leviathan  _ Providence,  _ an aptly named Providence carrier, stood out among far smaller frigates and cruisers. Even from here, kilometres away, Sev’rance could sense her Master’s admirable presence in the Force. However, there was another with him… Someone of a rival power…

She suspected, at first, that it was another adept of the Dark Side. While Sev’rance knew she was not the only one, she had suspected she was the strongest given her position. That thought was discarded, however, as she soon sensed the sickening light this figure clung to. A Jedi, no doubt, but why was there one of their dogmatic order aboard the Count’s flagship?

Her musings were cut off by the man himself, appearing in the form of a hologram on the console before her.

“Sev’rance, you’ve made good time, as expected,” The deceptively elderly man said pleasantly, dipping his head in a greeting. He seemed in high spirits, although Geonosis had fallen to the Republic and the fact that the Republic now had a massive army of slave soldiers.

“I live to please, Master,” Sev’rance responded with a subservient tone, bowing her head in deference. Her words barely seemed to register to the typically self-aggrandizing Count, as he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Board the  _ Providence _ and come to the observation deck. I would like to introduce you to my guest.” And without waiting for a response, Dooku ended the call. He had already begun turning, likely to address the ‘guest’ before even ending the call. Sev’rance grit her teeth in irritation, disliking the feelings that rose at being snubbed so thoroughly by her Master. Whoever was on the observation deck must truly be  _ enthralling _ if they so easily grabbed Dooku’s attention.

Sev’rance’s fighter glided into the hangar bay of the carrier, setting down in the middle of the area without a single concern for the droids trying to move ammunition and vulture droids. 

Gracefully vaulting out of the now open cockpit of her craft and sliding down the wing, Sev’rance completely ignored the approaching security droids and stormed out of the hangar.

Even though the hallways were all completely identical, Sec’rance found her way to the elevator up to the observation deck with minimal difficulty. Her temper had fallen to a simmer, successfully pressed down so as not to draw the ire of the ageing Count. Despite the decades that separated them, he could handily beat her in a duel if he so chose. 

The elevator arrived at the floor, and Sev’rance found herself greeted by the robotic bodyguards of Dooku. Both, adorned in gold and white and cloaks, were armed with deactivated staves. One of them greeted her in their incomprehensible language and stepped aside, allowing her access to the adjoining hallway.

Pointedly ignoring her audaciously yellow shadows, Sev’rance walked along the short hallway to the catwalk overlooking the observation deck. The deck was as expansive as it was extravagant, holding banners and statues from the noble house of Dooku, no doubt. The centre of the room was devoid of such expensive decorations, however. To one end was an ostentatious seat in which Dooku sat. Before him, wearing brown, hooded robes, was another figure. He was tall and built well, speaking of a life mixed with hardships and physical activity. The most telling sign of what this person was, however, happened to be the silver hilt at their hip.

“Sev’rance,” Dooku said in greeting, his voice rising from the hushed conversation he was having with the robed figure to address her, “May I introduce the newest member of our Confederacy, Anakin Skywalker.” 

Sev’rance was working her way down the stairs as the figure turned and, for a moment, she was taken aback by how young he looked. There was still a roundness to parts of his face, speaking of someone barely out of their teens if even that. Yet, his stature and expression spoke of someone so confident with himself that he could be mistaken as an older man.

His hair was short and regulated, he couldn’t have been more than a Padawan if he was a Jedi.

“Anakin, Sev’rance Tann. She is one of my most trusted lieutenants,” Dooku explained to his ‘guest’. Anakin, for his part, began to look Sev’rance over after bowing his head in greeting. His eyes, however, were calculated as the Jedi seemed to size her up. Not seeing Sev’rance as a threat, the Jedi visibly relaxed her shoulders and turned his attention back to Dooku.

Sev’rance fought back a sneer, immediately realizing this  _ Jedi _ was going to see himself as her rival. Her hand twitched towards her lightsaber, and action she was not able to stop. The barest, unbearably cocky smirk graced Skywalker’s features as he caught the movement, clearly proud he was causing Tann anger.

“A pleasure, Commander Tann.” Skywalker’s tone was decidedly neutral and spoke of a man used to sparring with words. While Tann was no Luddite in the arena of wordplay, she certainly couldn’t compare to her Master. The only thought she had when hearing Skywalker’s soothing tone was one of resignation.

_ Oh great,  _ She thought bitterly as she approached,  _ Another one. _

“The pleasure is all mine,” She lied as easily as she breathed, her tone coming across as clipped before she knelt before Dooku. The amusement emanating from the two men-- no, from the man and  _ boy _ , only served to spike her anger before Sev’rance brutally crushed it back down.

“Rise, my young apprentice.” Came Dooku’s ever cultured response, allowing Sev’rance to rise again and face the two men.

“Perhaps I should explain why young Skywalker is joining us today,” Dooku announced once Sev’rance had righted herself, indicating with one hand towards the suspected Jedi, “Mister Skywalker was, until three days ago, a Jedi Padawan of one Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Sev’rance found herself lost for a moment, finding the name of Skywalker’s former Master familiar yet unknown. After that moment passed, she was hit with a realisation.

“Kenobi was… Qui-Gon Jinn’s apprentice?” Sev’rance asked tentatively, remembering Dooku mentioning as much some time ago. Dooku gave a slight nod at her answer, finding it satisfactory. 

“Indeed. Young Skywalker shares many of our movement’s ideals about the Republic and Jedi Order, as well as the status of going’s on in the Outer Rim territories.”

So he was another naive fool tricked by the altruistic aims of the Separatists? Sev’rance had expected as much from a Jedi but was caught her off-guard were the trace emotions coming from Dooku. He felt envious and almost… shameful? They were trace, hidden beneath the flow ego and culture. Sev’rance only noticed it due to her constant exposure to the man. 

Why would Dooku be envious or shameful in regards to Skywalker’s idealism and naivete? Granted, Dooku seemed to believe in the Separatists in some part, but as of late he was using the power granted to him to his ends.

“Is that so,” Sev’rance drawled, trying her damndest to keep the worst of her contempt from her voice as she eyed Skywalker with suspicion, “Another devotee of the failing Order shown the light?”

“Do not mistake my being here as falling to the Dark,  _ Acolyte _ ,” Skywalker’s voice took a hardened edge, “I may despise what Dooku has become, but I support his cause.”

Sev’rance was so taken aback by the sudden hostility, as she had gained to warning through the Force, that she didn’t immediately pick up the insulting manner he called her ‘Acolyte’. When she did, however, Tann’s hand shot to her lightsaber. Her hand was stayed only by a sharp glance from Dooku, who, despite seeming relaxed, was prepared to jump in at a moment’s notice.

“Enough. There is enough grandstanding in this Confederacy without the two of you adding to it.” Came Dooku’s almost dismissive tone, though his excitement was palpable. Sev’rance couldn’t see why, but she wasn’t given much time to think on it as Skywalker was speaking again.

“I am doing no such thing. I stand by what I say, and while I can accept what you have become, I find her constitution…  _ lacking.  _ You have your morals, what does she have?” Skywalker jerked a thumb is Sev’rance’s direction, earning a growl of barely restrained fury from the Sith Adept.

“Power.” Was her ground out response, earning a deprecating laugh from Skywalker and a small smirk from Dooku. Sev’rance’s fury was reaching critical mass, so much so that she was about ready to launch herself at Skywalker, consequences be damned.

“Power? Is it ‘power’ to enslave yourself to an idea? To another being?” Skywalker asked almost conversationally, walking away from Dooku with his hands folded behind his back. Still, his stance spoke of someone ready to jump into combat at a moment’s notice.

Had Sev’rance been in the right mind, she would have responded with some snappy retort, playing this duel of words. However, shameful as it was to admit, Skywalker had pushed the right buttons to make her unreasonably angry. She only made an inarticulate snarl, drawing her lightsaber.

To her surprise, Dooku did nothing, merely watching with a face coloured with amusement. Sev’rance didn’t care and waved away the tendril of doubt filling her mind. She ignited her lightsaber, its crimson glow casting the grey room in a red glow. Skywalker, with an almost practised nonchalance, activated his blue lightsaber and letting it hand at his side. Sev’rance was caught off guard, unable to recognise any discernable form or stance Skywalker was using. While one could very liberally call it an opening to Makashi, albeit one heavily altered from the original, but Skywalker’s footing was all wrong. 

He was… Force,  _ he wasn’t even taking her seriously enough to use a proper opening stance!  _ With a snarl of rage, Sev’rance threw herself at Skywalker with the help of the Force, looking for a clean, decapitating blow. She wanted to see the moment of shock on that painfully smug face, to see fear fill his eyes as--

A flash of violet blinded Sev’rance as Skywalker easily blacked her strike, his lightsaber casting his face in blue light. Twisting his lightsaber, while keeping Sev’rance pinned in place as she hadn’t fixed her footing after her suicidal charge, Skywalker used his off-hand and struck her sternum with his palm. 

Sev’rance stumbled back gasping in a new breath as Skywalker forced the last from her. Skywalker was not tempted to give her that moment’s reprieve, however, and followed after her at a brisk stride. He opened with a heavy overhead strike, once again not revealing a specific form. Sev’rance fell back on her classical training with the second form and ducked to one side, letting Skywalker’s blade slide uselessly against hers. 

Sidestepping with a spin, Sev’rance danced her way out of Skywalker’s immediate field of view and aimed for his extended arms. Again, he moved impossibly fast and managed to loop his sabre over his right shoulder, catching Sev’rance’s blade. Twisting, with his outer robe billowing out around him, Skywalker aimed a bisecting slash at Sev’rance. It was child’s play to dodge, she merely had to jump back, but it gave Skywalker breathing room enough to face her again. The smug confidence from before was gone, replaced only by a cool determination and unshakable concentration. Sev’rance bared her teeth at such a stereotypical display from a Jedi. 

With one hand still holding his blue sabre before him, Skywalker grabbed one end of his cloak and threw them off. The inner robes were far more befitting a duel, loose yet far less flowing.

“Your anger makes you weak, Tann,” Skywalker spoke with confidence born of experience, a certainty that caused even Sev’rance a moment of hesitation, “It makes you uncontrollable; wild, but above all else: predictable.”

“My hate makes me strong, Jedi,” Sev’rance responded, readying herself to spring at the Jedi. She knew what the Jedi was doing, it was a tactic Dooku used all the time in his lessons: keep talking to throw the opponent off of their game.

“Then strike me down,” Was his four-word response. Skywalker didn’t wait for Sev’rance to attack this time. His strikes came like a wave and at such a speed that Sev’rance could not dodge. She fell into a bastardized version of Form 3, mostly out of desperation to survive Skywalker’s unrelenting onslaught. 

Skywalker was using an adapted version of Djem-So, or so Sev’rance suspected. The complete lack of footwork beyond the aggressive and his favouring of two-handed swings spoke of that. Djem-So had many exploitable weaknesses, namely that it lacked much in terms of quick movements or defensive capabilities. It compensated for that by always keeping its opponent on the backstep. 

Sev’rance could feel her arms weakening under the Jedi’s blows, each aiming to kill her quick and brutal fashion. Loath though she was to admit it, Skywalker was extremely skilled with his blade. Yet… with each of his strikes, he did not feel any closer to the Dark. Such aggression was against his precious Code, yet all she sensed from him was concentration and determination. 

Narrowly avoiding another slash, Sev’rance put some distance between them to catch her breath. Skywalker allowed this, giving his blade a few flourishes in a taunting gesture.

“Is this the strength of the Dark Side, girl? A few minutes of pitiful defence?” Skywalker asked, walking with his off arm facing her; an insult that spoke of how he saw her skill.

The audacity of this Jedi, not only did he look no older than twenty, but to see her as such a minor threat--

Sev’rance lashed out with her blade, hoping to catch Skywalker in his trap. It was not to be, Skywalker leaning back and letting the weapon pass uselessly through the air. A flash of blue sent her lightsaber wide, followed closely by a vicious backhand that sent her stumbling back a few paces.

The first strike of this duel, and it was almost negligent. Skywalker could have killed her then, Sev’rance knew that strike was risky and she was caught for it, but he just let her escape unscathed again.

What was his game?!

Sev’rance knew how this would end, she lacked the endurance to face Skywalker on his terms. He was too strong and fast, she would need to force him to attack her. Despite the speed at which he fought, Skywalker was still using Djem-So. It was predictable, aggressive, and predictably aggressive. All she needed was an opening.

Sev’rance lowered her sabre into a vertical, two-handed grip, taking deep, calming breaths. Skywalker wanted her angry, he wanted her to lash out and lose concentration. Sev’rance couldn’t overpower or outspeed him, but she could outsmart him.

Skywalker took several long strides forwards, Sev’rance noting in some small part of her mind that he hadn’t run during their entire match, and raised her lightsaber in a vicious vertical strike. Sev’rance ducked right, making it seem she was going one way. Skywalker corrected his swing accordingly, but the slight widening in his eyes as he realized Sev’rances move was just a feint was delicious. 

A perfected twirl found Sev’rance in Skywalker’s guard on his right. His overextended arms were the perfect target for her last strike. Her humming lightsaber slashed up and… found nothing. Skywalker released his lightsaber and threw his arms up in an almost comical pose, throwing his weight back on one leg. His lightsaber seemed to float for the barest moment before deactivating and plummeting towards the deck. Sev’rance released her lightsaber with one hand and reached for Skywalker’s, perfectly happy to claim her victory that way. She would never admit it, but a duel with Skywalker was the closest to death she had gotten in a long--

As her hand wrapped around the slightly warm grip of Skywalker’s lightsaber, a pressure on Sev’rance right hand told her Skywalker was far from done. A strike at the back of her hand saw Sev’rance’s hand slackening enough to allow her lightsaber to escape. With a sleight of hand she didn’t expect from him, Skywalker stole her lightsaber just as Sev’rance stole his. 

Sev’rance ended her spin with the wrong lightsaber in her off-hand as Skywalker corrected his back-peddle. Her lightsaber looked hilariously thin in his gloved grip. At least, it would be funny was it not for the hilt of  _ his  _ lightsaber being far too large for her comparatively lithe and small hands. 

Somewhere outside their arena, Sev’rance could only just make out a chuckle from Doku, though she was perhaps imagining that. Sev’rance tried to find a way to properly grip the lightsaber while Skywalker tossed hers from hand to hand, testing his grip. 

Finally finding a way to grip the blast weapon where she didn’t feel like a child playing with a toy, Sev’rance adopted an opening stance more attuned to Ataru than Makashi. Frankly, the unwieldy nature of Skywalker’s weapon made her favoured form impossible.

Skywalker, to her surprise, opening with a, albeit very basic, Makashi salute. No flourishes or added gestures, just bringing her lightsaber from his face to his side. It came as a surprise that someone of Skywalker’s stature and chosen style had any competence in Form 2, but yet again much of the fight had served as a surprise for Sev’rance.

Skywalker advanced at his brisk walk again, and Sev’rance rushed to meet him. Skywalker, despite using a form highly dependent on fast footwork and parrying, seemed rooted in a small area of movement. His stolen lightsaber was still little more than a blur of red, meeting Sev’rance’s aggressive strikes with negligible swings and blocks. Sev’rance had seen only one other person fight like that, and it was when Dooku was attempting to teach a lesson or just toying with his opponent. Yet, where Dooku seemed so graceful and dauntless in his movements, Skywalker was too rigid, overcompensating where it wasn’t necessary and under compensating where he shouldn’t.

And as sudden as this second round started, it ended. Skywalker simply wasn’t mobile enough to properly utilize Makashi. Using her lightsaber as a distraction, Sev’rance kicked Skywalker in the sternum, pushing Skywalker a pace or two back and knocking the air from his lungs. Gasping for breath, Skywalker was ill-suited to stop her next slash.

“Tann!” Dooku snapped, stopping Sev’rance short of decapitating her opponent. Skywalker looked at the glowing blade of his lightsaber, which was no more than a few centimetres from his face, with caution. Sev’rance hesitated on moving her weapon, she wanted so desperately to teach Skywalker a lesson for his insolence, to give in to her hate and anger. It was the reprisal form Dooku that she feared, however. He saw Skywalker as some personal project and did not want him killed so early.

Hesitantly, Sev’rance deactivated her stolen lightsaber and stepped back, both physically and mentally. She dragged her anger back and forced herself into some mockery of calm, though she nearly lost her temper at the confident smirk that graced Skywalker’s features.

“You have trained her well, Count,” Skywalker insulted-- wait.

“She still has much to learn, but she has come far from the disaster she started in,” Dooku responded calmly, rising from his throne and approaching the duo with his arms hidden beneath his back. Sev’rance merely stared at the two in confusion, wondering if this was either some kind of massive joke or a test of sorts. What in the name of  _ Csilla’s frozen plains is going on here _ ?!

“We never stop having things to learn, Count,” Skywalker responded with an equal tone, looking down at Sev’rance’s lightsaber before, almost as an afterthought, tossing it back to her. Sev’rance, not wanting to seem the sore winner, followed suit with his lightsaber. Her grip was warm, but the familiar weapon took an edge off of her tension.

“That sounds like the sort of maddening nonsense Master Yoda would spout, you did not strike me as the sort to take his lessons to heart.”

“Sometimes it pays to listen,” Sev’rance knew she was missing context in this conversation, and neither Skywalker nor Dooku seemed inclined to give her the missing information.

“So you say. Leave us, I wish to speak to General Tann in private.” 

“Of course, Count,” Skywalker bowed low and turned, heading towards the exit of the room without a word. The Magneguards, who Sev’rance had only just remembered were even there, turned and followed Skywalker back up. SKywalker slowed only to collect his robes, flinging them over one shoulder before disappearing up the catwalk.

Neither Dooku nor Sev’rance spoke until they heard the sound of the elevator leaving and the Magneguards returning to their stations. Finally, Dooku let out a sound that was a mix between a sigh and growl. The man pinched his nose in a clear sign of agitation.

“What a painfully irritating child,” It was a sentiment Sev’rance shared, though she did not voice as much and instead waited for her Master to continue. Dooku spent a long minute wallowing in his annoyance before turning and returning to his seat.

“We’ve already passed the introductions stage, so I will forgo his background. Skywalker shares many of the stated goals of the Confederacy, but I trust him no more than I would trust Nute Gunray with the running of this war,” Dooku stated as he lowered himself into his seat, scowling in the direction that Skywalker left.

“Then why is he still alive?” Sev’rance asked, earning another drawn-out sigh from Dooku.

“I have sensed no duplicity from him. What’s more, he is immensely powerful and skilled, as he has proved here,” Dooku indicated vaguely towards the observation-deck-turned-battleground. Sev’rance narrowed her eyes, only slightly self-conscious over her near-defeat at the hands of a  _ former Padawan. _

“What will his place in this war be, Master?” Sev’rance asked, hoping to see if Dooku was scoping out a replacement for her and if she would need to deal with Skywalker sooner rather than later. To her surprise, Dooku let out a self-deprecating chuckle, leaning back in his seat and steepling his fingers.

“To be honest, his recruitment was a ‘spur-of-the-moment’ decision. I had been seeking to convert his Master, but that fell through. Kenobi is too blind to the Order to turn against them, but Skywalker… Tell me, did you know there was a prophecy in the Order that may pertain to him?”

“A… Prophecy?” Sev’rance repeated slowly, quick surprised by this revelation. She never put very much stake in the ability to foresee the longterm future using the Force, as it was more often than not a completely unexpected change. Dooku was much the same, so she failed to see why that mattered.

“Indeed. To make a long story short, he is suspected to bring balance to the Force, whatever that may entail. The Jedi believe that means he will destroy the Sith.” Dooku explained with an incredulous snort, clearly finding the Jedi’s belief superstitious nonsense.

“And what do you believe, my Master?” It was a risky venture, but Sev’rance was desperate to get a feel for what Dooku had planned for Skywalker.

“I believe it makes excellent propaganda that the Jedi’s vaunted ‘Chosen One’ has flipped to our side at the opening of the War. Whether the prophecy is true or not is unimportant, what truly matters is that the  _ Jedi  _ believe it. It will sow dissent and indecision, and make many more question if they are truly in the right. However, wasting such a useful tool is not in my immediate interest. I am sending Skywalker to the Raxus Naval College to be properly trained in galactic combat,” Dooku leaned forwards, and Sev’rance was off-put by the almost mischievous glint in his eye, “and I am sending you to oversee and train with him.”

The final declaration was like a hammer blow to Sev’rance’s ego.

“Master?!” Was all the response that Sev’rance could formulate immediately. Dooku remained silent, patiently waiting for Sev’rance to get her thoughts together. It took a minute or so before she could properly voice her incredulity.

“My Lord, what of the war? Am I not to be the Supreme Commander? Am I not to lead the Separatist forces against the Republic? Am I not to face the Jedi?” Sev’rance pleaded though she would never admit as much to anyone. Dooku seemed unmoved, only displaying the barest amount of exasperation.

“When Skywalker agreed to join us, he made me realize something. If the Confederacy is to win this war, it needs to win the hearts and minds of the common people. I do not need warriors and butchers, I need leaders. I need those who believe and understand what this government was formed for. The fact that you still refer to it as a Separatist Alliance is proof enough that you do not truly understand. Go with Skywalker, learn from him, and prove to me that you can lead as well as fight.” 

Dooku’s speech was met with horrified and furious silence from Sev’rance, who was once again found without words. The audacity, the nerve-- She was trained in the art of war from the prestigious academies on Csilla! What could she possibly learn from the boy Jedi or some corporate-funded military college?!

“Master, I--”

“This is not up for debate, Sev’rance. I do not fully trust Skywalker, but his ideas will win the support of moderates and neutrals alike. His shuttle is preparing to leave in fifteen minutes. I will be sorely disappointed if you are not on it.”

Sev’rance gaped at her Master for several long seconds, but she was nowhere near suicidal enough to continue arguing with Dooku after such a clear dismissal. Giving a curt, silent bow, mostly because she did not trust her voice, Sev’rance left the observation deck as fast as she could without running.

Only when she was in the elevator did she let her emotions lash out. With a scream of pure, unadulterated fury, Sev’rance’s fist collided with a column of lights on one wall. With the help of the force, they shattered and sent pieces flying every which way. 

The sharp pain in her fist was yet another annoyance among the maelstrom of her fury. Sev’rance was beyond apoplectic, she was to the point that angry tears stung at her eyes and dared make themselves known. How pathetic, how  _ humiliating!  _

Vandalor would recommend caution, to try and seek the lesson Dooku was trying to teach Sev’rance. He was cautious like that, but alas he was not here. Vandalor was on lease to Wat Tambor, Foreman of the Techno Union, and could not comfort Sev’rance in these trying times. She couldn’t even use a communicator and open a channel with him, Vandalor was doing more subversive work for the Union magnate. 

Damn Tambor, damn Dooku, but above all else, damn Skywalker. Had he just died on Geonosis or not joined Dooku… If he hadn’t reawoken Dooku’s painfully Jedi desire to ‘save’ the  _ poor  _ Outer Rim denizens… If anything else had happened, Sev’rance would be enjoying a position of power at her Master’s side. 

Now? Now she was stuck playing part-student-part-teacher to the most painfully smug Jedi she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. 

Even the droids seemed to sense Sev’rance’s fury, for they avoided her at every chance. Upon entering the hangar, Sev’rance had decided to take her fighter to Raxus, refusing to ride in a shuttle with Skywalker for several hours on sheer principle. Her dignity was already being shredded, could she not keep some small part of it?

Fate had another place entirely, as Sev’rance’s parking job had annoyed some droid technician enough that they just loaded her fighter into the vulture droid storage and hid it deep in the bays of the  _ Providence _ .

It would take hours of unloading all the previous vulture droids and hyena bombers to reach the Rogue-class, and Skywalker’s shuttle would be leaving in mere minutes.

Sev’rance couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream or cry in desperation, but alas, neither would help her in this situation. So, she trudged aboard Skywalker’s  _ blasted  _ shuttle and sat across from Anakin _ -bloody _ -Skywalker. 

He could sense her barely controlled anger as Skywalker did not say a single word, just sitting cross-legged and meditating. Sev’rance found these arrangements perfectly acceptable, she could glare at Skywalker and think of increasingly aggressive, and childish, threats.

* * *

  
  


The shuttle arrived on an orbital station over the surface of Raxus Secundus, the de facto capital of the Separatists. Though the Senate was still going through the processes of setting up on the planet, countless bureaucratic offices and military branches had already set up shop and claimed the best offices for themselves. Leviathan battleships and carriers orbit the planet, freshly painted in their Separatist blues and greens and bristling with enough firepower to make a Kuati Designer sweat.

Sev’rance had calmed somewhat by the time of their arrival, learning through one of the droid pilots that Skywalker would be receiving an extremely quick crash course in military leadership. A mere five months she would have to suffer, then Sev’rance would be free.

The orbital station, the titular Raxus Naval College, was guarded by a small armada of cruisers and defensive platforms, none of which reacted to the arrival of Skywalker and her’s shuttle. They glided easily into the vast entry hangar of the station, dozens of fighters stacked into the ceiling and above. 

The duo was greeted by several officials and their guards, red-marked security droids.

The first was an elderly neimoidian, adorned in fine robes of grey, blue, and green. The Separatist hexagon was the only defining feature of his robes that slated the being as a rebel. The sides of his eyes crinkled in distaste at seeing Sev’rance and Anakin, though his gaze seemed to linger more on their lightsabers than their faces.

To his right was a woman, severe but young, someone, who took themselves very seriously; Sev’rance could relate. She stood a head shorter than even the Neimoidian, her strawberry-blond hair barely reaching his chin. Her uniform seemed to have formerly been that of a Republic officer, jodhpurs and all. She, too, bore the Separatist hexagon over her right breast.

The last was another human, a male this time and significantly older than his opposite number. This man was a giant in comparison to his comrades, with the nearest smirk on his lips and no small amount of amusement in his eyes. Though he wore a uniform similar to the woman, it bore the practicality of an Outer Rim soldier. No wasted space or over-the-top designs. Simple, ergonomic, and cheap.

“Master Skywalker, Commander Tann. Count Dooku informed us of your impending arrival,” The Neimodian said as a greeting, inclining his head towards the two newcomers. Anakin returned the gesture with a bow while Sev’rance responded only with a curt nod, her irritation again making itself known.

“I am Rear Admiral Adull Shigbii. These are my associates, Captains Canea Gwam and Jalurru Jor.” Admiral Shigbii explained, indicating first to the woman then to the man, “Am I to understand you are to be our students?”

“I will,” Skywalker responded before Sev’rance could bite out an insulting reply, “Commander Tann is merely here to observe and keep an eye on me. I am honoured to be here, Admiral.”

“A Jedi student,” Jor chuckled, shaking his greying head in wonder and amusement, “That’s not something you see every day.”

Gwam merely scoffed in response, her upturned nose and superior look losing their lustre considering she was shorter than everyone present.

“Indeed? Very well. Commander Tann, OOM-15 will show you to where you will be staying for the duration of Master Skywalker’s education here. Master Skywalker, please, follow me. We have much to discuss.”

“Please, call me Anakin--”

The group walked off, leaving Sev’rance with a single red-marked droid. Had Sev’rance ego not already been thoroughly trounced over the last few hours, she would have felt the need to respond in anger. Now? Now, she just felt drained and exhausted. 

“Please, follow me,” The droid intoned monotonously, indicating towards a doorway in the hangar with wooden, sharp movements, and so she did.

* * *

  
  


There was neither sight nor sound of Skywalker for the remainder of the day, which was a boon for Sev’rance, as the less she saw of him the better. The room set aside for them, at the very least, had two separate sleeping areas. As if the humiliation of chasing after the heels of the former Padawan was not enough, now she had to share a living space with him. Vandalor would be laughing quite uproariously at Sev’rance’s plight while trying to console her in the same breath.

When Skywalker did return, it was in the grey and blue uniform of a Separatist officer trainee, a single white bar on his chest alongside the hexagon. Though Sev’rance would never admit it, he did look quite sharp in that uniform. It certainly did him more favours than the loose, flowing robes of a Jedi.

“I see you’ve settled,” Skywalker said in an even enough tone, though amusement lingered in his eyes. Sev’rance narrowed her eyes and grit her teeth, biting back a far more scathing reply.

“Just because I am forced to be here doe snot mean I will suffer speaking to you, Skywalker.”

Skywalker was far from intimidated, humming in response and throwing the bag he had been carrying into the unused bedroom. Sev’rance kept one eye on him from the single couch in the living room, her muscles taut and ready for action. A minute or so passed before he returned, still adorned in his uniform and with a lightsaber at his hip. Upon returning to the living room, he clapped his hands together.

“Alright, how about a rematch?”

“Excuse me?” Sev’rance drawled, though her hand slid towards the lightsaber on her hip.

“A rematch? There is still much to learn and my classes don’t start until tomorrow.” Skywalker responded with a shrug before that ever so smug grin returned to his face. Sev’rance was tempted to say no, but the prospect of knocking that cocky smirk from his face a second time was too great to ignore.

* * *

As it turned out, that station had a room set aside from duels and training with melee weapons, hence why Skywalker brought up the idea in the first place. Sev’rance didn’t much care where they fought, only that she had another chance to beat the former Jedi. So, it was in a moderately sized ring with empty seats all around that they faced one another.

There was something different to Skywalker now, though Sev’rance could not place her finger on it. Perhaps it was the lack of amusement in his face, ever-present since the moment they met, or perhaps it was creeping anticipation running along her spine. It was as if there was something wrong with the air, or perhaps the Force itself. Whatever it was, Sev’rance could feel it in her bones that this duel would be different than the last.

Skywalker detached the lightsaber at his hip and ignited it without a flourish, its blade casting him once again in a blue hue. His opening stance was not that of Djem-So, his lightsaber was just hanging loosely at his side.

Sev’rance forwent the Makashi salute, an insult to some as it was typically taken as a sign that one’s foe was not worth the respect. No words were shared at the start of this bout, Skywalker took the initiative this time. Several long strides allowed him to reach Sev’rance, his lightsaber arching over his head and coming down in a brutal slash. Sev’rance ducked to one side and--

Skywalker’s other hand lashed out and backhanded her away, the strike lacking mercy. Sev’rance stumbled but was not given a moment to recuperate, a flash of blue being her only warning he was pressing forwards. Sev’rance blocked the strike, if only barely, and was quickly forced on the backfoot. Surgical, unrelenting strikes fell on her blade with such frequency and strength that Sev’rance could scarcely believe they were coming from a human.

There was only calm determination in his eyes, but something else, something  _ worse  _ emanated from the Force. Skywalker’s presence in the Force, which had neither been a beacon of the light nor tinged in darkness, was growing exponentially. It was as if he had been holding back and now, given the chance, unleashed his true strength. It was not light that bared down on Sev’rance, but something so Dark. 

The anger and hate permeating in the Force centred on Skywalker’s strikes, and only allowed them to grow in strength and speed. It was only through Sev’rance quick thinking and agility that she avoided each of these killing strikes.

Skywalker’s presence was Dark beyond even Dooku and had Sev’rance not been told repeatedly that he was supposed to be a Jedi, she would have suspected she was fighting a true Sith-- but what if she was? Dooku had always alluded to having a Master himself, a Sith of even greater power… But, no, Skywalker wasn’t even into his twenties…  _ right? _

There was none of the uncontrolled fury Sev’rance or other acolytes called on. The anger was funnelled into precise strikes as if Skywalker was bending the Dark Side to his very will. Such a thing should be impossible, even for Count Dooku, yet here Sev’rance was.

Skywalker was trying to kill her, Sev’rance realized, each strike was a finishing blow. This was not a duel, it was an execution. For the first time in years, or perhaps ever, terror-filled Sev’rance mind. Pure, unrelenting fear for something. She respected Dooku, perhaps feared him some, but this was no such feeling. Skywalker was like a storm, his hate and anger flowing around him in a cyclone of power, yet it was controlled. All that power was bent to his will, not the other way around. 

Sev’rance’s lightsaber was knocked aside and, faster than her eyes could follow, Skywalker’s hand found her throat. Instantly, Sev’rance’s airflow was cut off as she was lifted effortlessly into the air. Her desperate attempts to free herself were stopped by a few negligent swipes of Skywalker’s sabre.

Just as the world seemed to go black, Sev’rance felt herself be thrown before hitting a wall with a resounding  _ bang _ . Sev’rance fell in aheap at the foot of the wall, unable to move and just enjoying the delicious air filling her lungs. Several heavy footfalls, far too heavy for someone even of Skywalker’s stature, approached her. Sev’rance looked up and, in her air-deprived delirium, she saw what Skywalker was to become, or perhaps would have been. 

A monolith of power and anger, adorned in black armour, stared down at her. Power rippled around him, answering only to his call and command. A single, crimson sabre was held aloft in one hand, the weapon of a Sith Lord. His breathing, however, would haunt her nightmares for the months to come. It was slow, drawn-out, and as unrelenting as the man himself.

_ Khooooh puuuhrr… _

Sev’rance blinked and the vision was gone, leaving her in the well-lit room with only Anakin Skywalker looking down on her. The anger was gone, replaced with an unreadable expression. 

He knelt before Sev’rance and had she the strength, she would have scooted further back. Skywalker set Sev’rance’s lightsaber in her loose grip before looking into her eyes, a kind yet hardened look to their depths.

“Let this be my first lesson, Sev’rance. Be the master of your anger, and you shall never lose. Let it be your master, and you will be little more than a slave until your death. The Dark Side is a pathway to many abilities, but do not let them control you. Rest now, but come to me if you wish to learn how.” With that, Skywalker was gone.

Sev’rance, eventually, found the strength to tuck her knees up to her chest. It was a childish gesture, she knew, but at that moment, Sev’rance was more terrified than she had ever been in her entire life. Skywalker was powerful, impossibly so, so she felt completely justified.

Sev’rance hated Skywalker, but upon witnessing his raw power and control over the Dark Side… She wanted, no, needed to learn how he controlled the Dark Side and bent it to his will. Yet, it raised a question…

Who taught Skywalker?

* * *

She should have told Dooku what she had learned about Skywalker, it was perhaps the best idea possible to tell Dooku what she had learned about Skywalker. Skywalker was dangerous immensely so, and yet… Sev’rance, despite her Dark Side leanings, was nothing if not pragmatic. She always seized an advantage where there was one or made an advantage where there wasn’t. Skywalker was offering, freely, the ability to control her anger and hate into a focused power. Not even Dooku, in all his power and wisdom, was as controlled as Skywalker when using that amount of power. If she could use Skywalker’s freely given lessons against Dooku, and name herself the true Sith Lord… 

Naturally, how Skywalker would react remained a mystery, but Sev’rance found herself looking at him in a new light. He was not some foolish Jedi, hiding from the true power of the Force. No, he was enlightened to the power of Dark Side, yet resisted its siren call. His morals were still in check, despite the nature of the Dark Side is to corrupt everything it touched.

Sev’rance was curious, but she knew not to seem desperate. Skywalker held all the cards in this relationship, and if he was aware she was desperate to learn what he knew… Well, quite frankly, Sev’rance didn’t know what would happen. Skywalker remained an unknown, his motives and ideals a mystery to Sev’rance. Did he truly believe the stated goals of the Separatists? If so, did he not suspect that Dooku was intending to use the government as the means to his power? Or did Skywalker just intend to do away with the Count when the time came? So many questions, yet no answers reached Sev’rance’s mind in her self-imposed quarantine. 

Though Sev’rance did not approach, nor remain in the same room as Skywalker for the three days following their second duel, she followed and observed him at a distance. She sought any slip he might make in those days, any sudden bouts of anger or rush of Dark. What she found was equal parts alarming and interesting: not once did Skywalker ever slip into the Dark Side. Always was he a beacon of hope or good, interacting jovially with his fellow while studious attending classes.

From her vantage point on the observation deck, Sev’rance watched Skywalker run through a simulated wargame against a fellow cadet. It was her years of training on Csilla and personal experience commanding that allowed her to critically analyze how Skywalker ‘led’.

He showed at least some understanding of the naval command, moving his cruisers and frigates into tight formations with overlapping firing vectors, as well as deploying his fighters in a wide shield in front of the fleet. Skywalker, ever the aggressive fighter, then sent his ships forwards, directly into his foe’s formation. 

Skywalker’s next moves were… well, confusing, to say the least. Most officers, Sev’rance included, would use the cheap Munificent-class frigates as shields and swarm ships. Though they were bristling with guns, the heavy frigates completely lacked adequate armour or shielding. They were cheap and replaceable, just like the Separatist ground forces. Skywalker, because he only existed to confuse everyone in the galaxy, used his Providence-class destroyers as battering rams with the heavy frigates hanging back as support. The large destroyers crashed right into the middle of the enemy formation, peppering their underdefended flanks with copious amounts of torpedoes and turbolaser fire. The heavy frigates and auxiliary craft remained behind, providing support fire for their larger cousins now that they weren’t the immediate focus. 

The strike was admirable, using the heavier ships as formation breakers while the more fragile ones remained behind. The issue arose in the fact that the Providence, barring the ‘dreadnaught’ variations said to be in the works, were not heavy enough for such strikes. They lacked the copious amounts of shields and guns often attributed to a fleet-breaking juggernaut. These weren’t Procurators or the likes Skywalker was throwing around, but destroyers. The separatist doctrine called for superior and overwhelming firepower in massive formations to compensate for the weaknesses of their ships. 

So Skywalker was defeated, but not after inflicting grievous casualties on an unprepared opponent. A better commander would have moved to disable the Providences, and just let them float around while defending against the larger formation. Skywalker’s opponent seemed far too focused on the Providences and discounted the larger threat.

Where Skywalker performed unexpectedly well was in the direction of fighters. Often, officers of lesser calibres would just send their fighters and bombers in a direction and forget about them. Not Skywalker; growing his ever confusing repertoire of skills, Skywalker micromanaged his fighters to an almost inhuman degree while commanding the greater battle. Fighters and bombers weaved in and out of the enemy formation, striking weak points with brutal precision or making openings for the larger ships to exploit.

Where Skywalker learned how to so skillfully manipulate fighters was a mystery to Sev’rance, who was now looking at the cheap swarm fighters of the Separatists with new eyes. Skywalker’s usage of small strike squadrons while hiding his bombers in amongst the fighters made for devastating effect, even if he couldn’t win. Had Skywalker had a Lucrehulk Battlecarrier, though…

Barring that event, Skywalker did nothing of note aside from going to classes, rubbing shoulders with Separatist trainees, and studying. He was as studious as they came, fitting in well despite his former position as a Jedi. Though some of the Outer Rim nationals seemed to baulk at the prospect of interacting with a Jedi, Skywalker’s natural charisma and charm worked wonders when it came to abate their fears.

And above it all, not once did he show the fact that he was a practitioner of the Dark Side… No, a  _ Master  _ of it. Dooku lacked the control Skywalker, not by a lack of trying but by lack of sheer power. 

So, it was with no small amount of trepidation that Sev’rance approached Skywalker on the end of the fourth day, finding him working on a datapad. The blue-and-white diagram of a Munificent-class frigate was the only discernable part of the handheld computer, Skywalker comparing what it said to several other slates of varying sizes.

He was seated in the shared couch of their living room, his work spread out before him in some chaotic form of organisation. Each of them held a different diagram for a formerly corporate enforcement craft or recently designed warship.

“Yes?” Skywalker asked, his attention still on the datapads arrayed before him. Sev’rance suddenly feeling the part of the student wishing to request her teacher… and she couldn’t see  _ why  _ she felt like that. 

“I want to be trained,” Sev’rance said with a confidence she did not feel. Skywalker paused his notes and looked up to Sev’rance’s eyes, a calculating look in those blue depths. 

“Do you understand what you are asking?” Skywalker asked after a moment’s pause. Sev’rance was taken aback and, for a moment, furious that Skywalker dared to ask such a question. Sev’rance calmed herself just as quickly. She could not waste such a chance to learn the secrets of a… whatever Skywalker was.

“Of course, I want to become more powerful,” Sev’rance answered, suspecting Skywalker would appreciate her honesty. To her surprise, Skywalker merely chuckled and shook his head in wonderment. 

“There’s more to it than that, Tann. Much more. You must understand the doctrines of both the Jedi and the Sith. You must see the weaknesses of both just as you see the strengths. You must find  _ balance  _ if you are to truly master the Force. If you learn from me, you shall have your world views shattered and your beliefs dashed.” Sev’rance nearly laughed in Skywalker’s face at his overly serious speech but was given pause. The complete seriousness in she felt through the Force was what stopped Sev’rance, though. The naked certainty of his mind… Skywalker truly believed that whatever he had to say or teach would change Sev’rance completely.

_ What have you seen, Skywalker?  _ Sev’rance thought,  _ What have you seen that has shaken you so much? _

He was young, yet acted the part of a man far, far older than he seemed. Skywalker was immensely skilled with the lade, powerful in the Force, and had control of the Dark Side beyond even Dooku.

No… Despite her misgivings, Sev’rance could not waste this chance.

“My answer is the same.” 

Skywalker studied her face for a time, his blue eyes seeing her yet not. He was still as a statue, giving away that he was still alive with the barest movements of his chest and his shifting hand.

“So it is,” He finally spoke, a hardness overriding his former expression, “So it is.”

Skywalker rose, bringing himself to his full height. Sev’rance, though shorter than the former Jedi, was not easily intimidated by his severe expression and sharp uniform. Besides, she had bared witness to something far worse: Skywalker as a Sith, or whatever the black leviathan had been.

“Sit.” The simple command was followed immediately, Sev’rance driven by her apprehension and excitement. 

“Meditate.” At Sev’rance’s confused look, Skywalker elaborated, “To master the Dark Side, one must first master the Light. To master the Light, one must first understand the distinction between the two. Meditate, draw on your happiest, brightest memories. I will continue when you have.”

With a put upon sigh, Sev’rance closed her eyes and drew on the Force. Instead of tapping on the Dark Side, which she was nearly tempted to do, she focused on memories of a… kinder calibre. Her sisters and her, playing in the city park in her home town. Graduating from the Csilla Military Academy, her mentor’s crimson eyes glowing with pride. Meeting Vandalor, her love, aboard the  _ Sanctum _ , her first military assignment in the form of a strike cruiser. These memories brought the abrest smile to her face, but she didn’t stop there. She remembered her first battle, the exhilaration of crushing the Beyonders and other fools that dared face the Ascendency. The dark joy of drawing on the Dark side and crushing those who would threaten her position under Dooku. She remembered--

_ Swat! _

Sev’rance flinched as something slapped the back of her head, causing her eyes to open in alarm. Turning her sharp glare up at Skywalker, she was initially caught off-guard by the utter annoyance in those blue depths.

“What was that for?!” She demanded, rubbing the back of her head while noting the rolled-up flimsy in his hand.

“Blast,” Skywalker muttered as if Sev’rance hadn’t spoken, stroking his clean-shaven jaw in thought, “This will be more difficult than I thought.”

“What will--” Sev’rance stated, only to find herself  _ swatted on the nose like some household pet.  _ She growled incomprehensibly, ready to spring herself at Skywalker and cram that damned flimsy down his throat when he, once again, hit her with it, albeit on the top of her head.

“When I said  _ brightest  _ and  _ happiest _ , I should have clarified: happy and  _ light _ . While it would be hypocritical of me to derided you for finding joy in combat, it doesn’t work with my lesson,” Skywalker explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“What’s the point?” Sev’rance growled, “The Light is always weaker than the Dark.” 

“Oh?” Skywalker responded, cocking his head with the barest sign of his overly cocky grin, “Weaker, you say? Can the Dark Side heal wounds? Can the Dark Side give your soldiers courage?”

He was circling her, Sev’rance could sense his presence. In her meditative state, she could sense his growing annoyance… and amusement. 

“The Dark Side does not need those powers,” Sev’rance responded with a hiss. In an instant, the dark presence Sev’rance had been exposed to in their last duel returned, falling like a chilling tide and causing his to shiver involuntarily. It was all-consuming and twisted her visions, showing the last meeting between herself and Vandalor. It was different this time. Their separation on the  _ Providence  _ had been heartfelt and passionate, but this whatnot that time.

_ A vision, it’s a vision. A trick… _

Sev’rance tried to convince herself as stared in mute horror at the scene before her, but she couldn’t believe herself.

A towering figure, familiar in all its horrifying power, walked through a legion of droids as if they weren’t there. Its crimson blade moved with a lazy precision, always arriving in time to block blaster bolts or to destroy a nearby droid. 

The figure moved past Sev’rance as if she weren’t there, leaving only carnage at its back as it approached Vandalor. Joy morphed into terror as Vandalor seemed to notice the figure approaching, its very presence like a black hole for all the light in the room. Sev’rance couldn’t move, her limbs refusing her commands as the figure advanced on Vandalor. 

A blaster appeared in his hand, faster than anyone should be able to react to, yet the figure twisted its blade in time to deflect the bolt back into Vandalor’s hand. A cry of pain came from his lips, but his eyes narrowed with condensed fury. Vandalor and pain were old friends, and his immediate reaction was to draw his other pistol with his free hand. The being, which seemed to be the manifestation of the Dark Side itself, merely raised a single fist. Vandalor was raised into the air by his neck, eyes widening in surprise. The Chiss wasn’t given a moment to fight back, dragged towards the towering monster and impaled through the chest by its weapon.

Sev’rance screamed her denial, rage and horror flowing as freely as the tears down her face. The towering being tossed the body of her lover aside as it Vandalor were nothing but garbage and turned, with billowing cape, to face her.

Finally, Sev’rance was freed from whatever force that had held her. With a cry of rage, she flung herself at the titanic being. Sev’rance’s lightsaber lashed out and was blocked with complete ease, the not even shifting his footing to better take the attack. The follow-up swing was also met with a lazy defence, not that there was any form to Sev’rance’s movements. She was fueled only by her rage and loss, but the figure stood unharmed and unworried by her attacks. 

_ Save him, girl. Use the Dark Side and save him. _

The voice seemed to come from the being and everywhere at once, equal parts mocking as it was demanding. Sev’rance glanced to the side as she landed, spying the form of Vandalor. He still lived, his chest rising and falling quickly being the only clear sign. Sev’rance lacked the control to reach out with the Force and check how injured he was with further injuring the man.

A whine drew Sev’rance’s attention back to the towering monster but was surprised to see that it had deactivated its lightsaber.

_ Go, girl. Save him. _

It ordered her, dark amusement lacing its tone. Yet again, the words did not sound as if they came from it. Only its breathing, slow and measured, filled the room outside the hum of Sev’rance’s lightsaber. Sev’rance also deactivated her weapon but did not wait to see how the being would react. She turned and dashed across the short distance separating her and Vandalor, kneeling at his side.

Sev’rance’s anger reeled back into desperation, but she still lacked the calm or centredness to carefully see the extent of his wounds. Vandalor’s head found her thighs, not reacting to the change in his position beyond a choking groan.

_ Use your hate, girl. Use the Dark Side to save him. _

The voice was growing more mocking by the second, seeming to take sickening pleasure in her pain. Sev’rance did as it ordered, fearing she had no other alternative. She tried, with her tumultuous emotions, to reach out into the Force and better understand Vandalor’s injuries. His cry of pain put an end to those plans in an instant as Sev’rance hugged his head to her and let loose a flurry of apologies and platitudes. 

Under the watchful gaze of the dark being, Sev’rance held Vandalor for his final moments. Only when his short breathing came to an abrupt stop did a sob escape Sev’rance’s lips. 

_ “The Dark Side is a pathway to many abilities, Tann.”  _ A heavily synthesized voice, not unlike the omnipresent one from before, spoke behind Sev’rance. Heavy footsteps joined it as the  _ thing  _ cross the room, “ _ But it is consuming power. It will take and destroy all that you hold dear if you cannot find balance and control it.” _

The scene shifted and suddenly, Sev’rance’s hands were coated in blood. The position was the same, as was the room, but it was her hands gripping the weapon that struck down Vandalor. The surprise and betrayal in his eyes were the last emotion he showed before passing into the cold embrace of death.

“No.” Sev’rance choked out, barely noticing that the figure had come to stop directly behind her.

_ “The Dark Side is a tool, as is the Light. You must find balance and use moderation, or you will be the destruction of all you love and care for.”  _ The voice growled. Sev’rance didn’t look up at the speaker, fearing what she would see despite knowing what the being looked like. Was she a coward, then? Perhaps, but in her heart, Sev’rance knew that this being, whatever it was, represented letting oneself fall to the Dark Side entirely. A being so filled with hate and anger that it had destroyed all it loved.

A hand gripped Sev’rance’s shoulder, but it was far from being as cold and dark as what she expected from the towering being. A calming presence washed away the vision. Vandalor’s body dissolved away, leaving Sev’rance staring at the metallic floor of her and Skywalker’s shared living room. Wet dots on the ground were the only sign of how much Sev’rance was hurt by the vision.

She blinked angrily, humiliated beyond words that a vision was enough to completely crush her.

“The Dark Side’s power rests in what it can take, the Light Side finds its strength in what it gives. Do not see it as two sides of the same coin, if that offends your Dark sensibilities. See them both as just the Force, and the powers therein.” 

Sev’rance didn’t say a word as Skywalker returned to his datapads, completely ignoring her existence as he set back to his work. Sev’rance was perfectly content with these arrangements, escaping to the refresher to clean herself up. 

Skywalker’s lesson was harsh, but his point was made. Sev’rance needed balance if she was going to save the one she loved… And that was going to require copious amounts of meditation.

* * *

A boot collided with Sev’rance’s stomach, sending her tumbling backwards. It was years of experience in combat that allowed her to roll back to her feet, despite the air being viciously knocked from her lungs.

_ He’s getting faster. _

Skywalker, over the last month, was becoming faster on his feet, evolving his favoured Djem So into a twister of lightsaber strikes and rapid repositioning. Mixing in a few strikes with hands or feet, and Skywalker had a bastardized mix of Ataru and Djem So. While it didn’t have the flips or somersaults often attributed to the fourth form, the untrained eye could mistake it for Ataru.

A small cheer could be heard from the stands, drawing aglare from Sev’rance as she fought to regain control of her lungs. Skywalker’s ‘posse’, if they could be called as much. Over the last month, Skywalker, being the pretty boy that he was, became increasingly popular. Especially with his frequent victories in battle simulations through unconventional, see suicidal, tactics. A collection of students, who had likely heard Skywalker came here to train, followed to witness a ‘Jedi’ in action.

What they got was Skywalker barking orders at Sev’rance whilst he beat her down in painful duel after painful duel.

“Pay attention,” Was all the warning Sev’rance got, throwing her lightsaber up in time to catch a vicious slash from above. Sev’vance fell to a knee, spluttering under the pressure of keeping Skywalker’s sabre in place whilst silently cursing herself. Letting her attention drift? In a duel with Skywalker? A bad recipe to be sure.

The weight suddenly vanished, and the Force called out for Sev’rance to move. She ducked a decapitating strike and kick off the ground to get some distance between herself and Skywalker. 

“Faster, be unconventional,” Skywalker snapped, following close behind Sev’rance’s hasty retreat with another series of slashes. Sev’rance dodged the first two and let the last slide across her lightsaber. Using his overextended stance, Sev’rance slashed up from under his guard and at his wrist. 

Just as the lightsaber was going to meet flesh, and Sev’rance began to sweat a little at the prospect of disarming her ‘tutor’, Skywalker caught the hilt of her lightsaber with his offhand. Despite Sev’rance putting the whole of her strength behind the hit, Skywalker’s almost negligent display of strength and a hint of Force power completely halted her in her tracks.

“Better.” Came grudging praise as Skywalker moved his hand out of the path of danger and stepped back, away from Sev’rance’s blade. Sev’rance rose, giving her weapon a flourish while flinching at the applause and catcalls from the stands. Skywalker played to the crowd with a wave and a cocksure grin, as he was ought to do, before returning to the present.

“This last month has been kind to you. Only three instances of lashing out in uncontrolled rage.” Skywalker noted as the two of them began circling each other. His stand was lazy, but Sev’rance knew how fast Skywalker could have his weapon up and ready to fight from personal experience. Ambushing him seemed impossible, or so Sev’rance suspected. The Force was truly his ally.

“It is a challenge, to unlearn all that I’ve learned,” Sev’rance responded in kind, with a respectful dip of her head towards Skywalker. He was not a cruel teacher, not like Dooku. While they both seemed to follow the idea of learning from one’s mistakes as well as the doctrine of ‘stick-before-treat’, Skywalker was, by far, the more kind of the two. He taught, yet did not deride unless it was to Force Sevr’rance to stay calm. He fought with an unshakable intensity, yet had more than enough control to keep from injuring Sev’rance beyond the purely superficial. The bruises covering her body after the ore rigorous training sessions were proof of that.

Skywalker was an exceptional teacher, for both the Light Side and the… No, he was an exceptional teacher for the Force as a whole. The last month had been spent trying to deprogram the Sith perspective in her mind, and Sev’rance felt she was doing a decent job of it.

_ There is neither Dark nor Light; only the Force. _

It was the mantra Skywalker forced Sev’rance to remember and memorize time and again. To master the Force, one must learn all of its aspects. One cannot be a slave to either ideology, for they are only one side of the coin.

“To understand the Force and its extremes, one must look only to the Masters of both sides,” Sev’rance’s grip tightened on her lightsaber hilt, though Skywalker had fallen into the  _ lecture mode _ , he was still perfectly capable of fighting. The challenge was remembering everything he said whilst they fought, “To one side…?”

“Yoda,” Sev’rance answered, bringing her lightsaber up to deftly parry a vicious strike from Skywalker. She countered with a swipe of her own, but Skywalker merely batted the hit away and regained some distance between the two of them.

“And his weakness?” Came Skywalker’s almost conversational query as he probed Sev’rance’s defences. Sev’rance, confident that he would find none soon, rolled her answer over in her head. A month ago, she would have answered heatedly and quickly with some Sith contrived nonsense, but in that short amount of time, she had learned to look at the greater picture.

“Complacency. His fear of showing attachment, no matter how small, as well as growing overconfidence in his abilities. A rebellion grew under his very nose, and he was blind to it.”

“Very good,” Skywalker complimented Sev’rance before batting aside her lightsaber and aiming to impale her through the heart. Sev’rance turned and let his sabre slide harmlessly past. Sev’rance attempted to sweep his feet out from under him, but she only managed to force to Skywalker to a knee. He responded with a slash at her legs, which Sev’rance easily jumped back from. Skywalker picked up the conversation from where he left off, “The great irony is that the Jedi’s beliefs conflict. To show compassion, one must first become attached to the targetted group. A Jedi cannot form attachments and thus come off as aloof. Oh, it might seem humorous and endearing to the wealthy Core Worlder, but the Outer Rim? Their issues seem to be ignored by the Jedi, given how restricted they are. Yoda is merely a symptom of a far greater issue several millennia in the making. And to the other side…?”

“Dooku,” Sev’rance answered immediately, seeing the Count of Serenno as the strongest Sith she knew.

“Dooku can barely be seen as an adept compared to other Dark Siders wandering the galaxy.” Skywalker chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Sev’rance was at a loss there; Dooku’s mastery of the Dark Side was unmatched barring Skywalker himself--

“You?” Sev’rance tried again after a moment, her voice hesitant as it was questioning. Skywalker stared at her in shock for a moment before bursting into raucous laughter, catching Sev’rance off-guard. Her surprise quickly morphed into annoyance and irritation, however, as Skywalker actually deactivated his lightsaber and doubled over in hysterics. 

“Me?” He asked, his voice cracking with condensed glee, “Me? I am… touched you think so highly of me, Tann, but no. I am no Sith.”

_ But you were. _

Sev’rance kept that thought to herself, undecided if she wanted to hear that story or not. The prospect of Skywalker being something far worse than merely a disgruntled Jedi was as terrifying as it was curious. Then again, it wasn’t like he was the next Revan, right?

Sev’rance scoured her mind for some sign of who or what the ‘greater Dark Sider’ could be. After a minute, an answer came. It was so obvious that Sev’rance was almost ashamed of herself for not noticing it sooner, though the prospect was distinctly worrisome.

“Dooku’s master.”

Sev’rance didn’t have any proof of such a Master existing, but Dooku had to learn from someone. What’s more, he indirectly referenced reporting to someone, though it was filled with so much Dooku Double-Speak that she couldn’t be completely sure. Skywalker’s suddenly solemn face was all the answer Sev’rance needed, though.

“Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith.” Sev’rance was taken aback by the hatred in Skywalker’s voice at the mere mention of this being and, briefly, wondering if Skywalker was Dooku predecessor or… no, Skywalker couldn’t possibly be this ‘Sidious’s master. Even so, Skywalker had a vibroblade to grind with this ‘Sidious’ figure.

“You are familiar with them?”

“Immensely,” Skywalker growled, briefly letting the Dark Side flow through him before clamping down on its hold and seeming to draw himself back to the present. With a shake of his head, he seemed to calm, “Sidious is the culmination of all the Sith; perhaps the perfect Sith. He has the power of Nihilus, the oration abilities and charisma of Revan, all wrapped into the clandestine methods of Bane. He makes Dooku seem like a Jedi Initiate in comparison, and even me, in my heyday, paled in comparison.”

Skywalker shook, seeming to not notice that he had unintentionally given away part of his past. Sev’rance, who could see he wasn’t even old enough to  _ drink  _ on most Core Worlds, would have taken his words with a freighter load of salt, was it not for the fact that he had control of the Dark Side beyond what she thought was possible.

“Despite that, he also falls into many of their traps. He is arrogant to a fault, surrounding himself with sycophants he controls out of fear more than anything else. Were he any other Sith, I would say wait until he gets shot in the back by some disgruntled aide of poisoned by some longtime ally,” Skywalker let his sly grin return, earning a disbelieving sigh from Sev’rance, “Alas, Sidious is not your average Sith. He has been planning this war for longer than you or I have been alive, and to ensure his fall one must plan carefully.”

“Why would I want him dead?” Sev’rance asked, raising an eyebrow as she deactivated her lightsaber, “Despite your teachings, I still identify far more with the Sith than the Jedi.”

“This is not about identifying with one side, it is about freeing yourself from the constraints of both to become stronger,” Skywalker chastised Sev’rance, jabbing an index finger in her direction before shrugging, “But to answer your question? Because Sidious intends to have us and Dooku killed. We are tools, nothing more. The Confederacy is merely how he will build his Sith Empire and finally rule the galaxy, as the Sith have been planning for thousands of years. His sights are already set of Dooku’s replacement... If you can truly call Dooku a Sith.”

“That’s what happened to you, isn’t it?” Sev’rance asked after a quiet moment, her voice barely rising above a whisper, “Dooku was your replacement?”

Skywalker was silent for some time, his eyes never leaving Sev’rance face while still holding the same unshakeable intensity. She felt like she was under the piercing gaze of her former mentor on Csilla, like all of her secrets and thoughts were laid bare before Skywalker despite how improbable it seemed.

Finally, Skywalker lowered his gaze and breathed a sigh. Whether it was one of annoyance or resignation, Sev’rance wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both.

“That… is a difficult question, Sev’rance. One I will not broach at this time. For now, meditate on what we have discussed. What are the differences between Sidious and Yoda? What are their similarities? We will speak again tomorrow.”

With that, Skywalker escaped and left Sev’rance with far more questions than answers. Irritation filled her mind but was thoroughly quashed, Sev’rance knew better than to dig further. With a dejected sigh, she left and headed in the direction of the nearest refresher to clean herself up.

At least her fighter had finally arrived from the  _ Providence _ .

* * *

One month became two, then three. The fourth trickled by, and Sev’rance was forced to watch the war unfold from the safety of Raxus Secundus. A new Supreme Commander was selected in her stead, a General Grievous, and he was leading the Confederacy through valiant victory after valiant victory.

At least, so the news reported. Sev’rance knew how to read between the lines, though, and could see that Grievous was fitting the ‘cruel Confederacy’ narrative Skywalker spoke of to a tee. A brutal Jedi killer that was baptising the galaxy in fire and the blood of Jedi, butchering all that came before him. 

Sev’rance, four months ago, would have been infuriated at such a slight, being relegated to an observer while another gained her former position. Now? She felt she was getting the far better deal. Instead of fighting a war of attrition, which was what the recently dubbed ‘Clone Wars’ had devolved into, she was learning under perhaps the greatest master of the Force for this age. Oh, he would never admit as much, but how Skywalker taught and the power he called on…

Sev’rance almost pitied the Jedi and Sith Acolytes, for Skywalker would take the galaxy by storm when he finally escaped this damnable Naval College. Even after all these months, Sev’rance could not beat Skywalker again after their first bout. He was always faster, always stronger, and always had more endurance.

On a completely separate note, Vandalor had finally managed to slip a communication to Sev’rance alongside his report to Dooku. How he had managed to slip it through several levels of encryption was beyond Sev’rance, though Skywalker’s reticent smile the day of the message’s arrival did raise some questions. 

“ _... Blasted thing… _ ” Vandalor swore to himself for a moment, kneeling before whatever was recording him. After a moment, the little hologram of the Chiss stood back up and looked up in Sev’rance’s direction. Of course, it was just a recording, but it was an admirable attempt.

He looked worn, dark lines and crow’s feet around his eyes telling quite the story. He was covered in blast mesh and flak plates, the latter of which was scorched by a blaster burn. His formerly full head of hair was shaved away, making him seem far older than he was. Despite it all, there was still Vandalor’s cockiness and general amiability hidden beneath the grime and exhaustion.

“ _ Hey, Sev. Long time, no see. I would have tried to send something sooner but… Well, don’t tell anyone I said this, but Tambor is a prick. More so than the old Captain _ ,” Vandalor announced in a conspiratorial tone, cupping the side of his mouth and sending glares to something unseen. He lowered his hand after a moment and let the smirk grace his features again, “ _ Imagine my surprise when I heard that you were being carted around with some Jedi slimeball. Should I be worried about him corrupting you with his sorcerous powers. _ ”

The finger wiggling certainly added to the ‘mysterious, sorcerous powers’ Vandalor was trying to display, earning a chuckle from Sev’rance.

“ _ Anyway, I can’t stay long. Tambor wants me moving sooner rather than later, and I need to get the report sent out. Just wanted to send in and show I’m not dead, and that I miss and love you. _ ” He kissed his hand and waved, a sad smile on his face before the hologram flickered out.

Sev’rance’s small smile appeared as she ran her thumb over the top of the communicator.

“... Love you…” 

“Sweet guy,” Came the amused tone from her very nightmares, earning a startled jump form Sev’rance. She whirled around to find Skywalker standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Sith spit, why do you have to sneak up on me like that? Haven’t you ever heard of knocking? What’s the matter with you?!” Sev’rance demanded in rapid succession, mostly to disguise her embarrassment at a moment of vulnerability.

Skywalker just chuckled, shaking his head in his usually carefree sort of way. He hadn’t changed much in terms of appearance over the last few months. He shaved commonly, but let his hair grow out far beyond what was considered ‘regulation’. His dark locks were tied back into a loose ponytail as if Skywalker were going for the quintessential ‘slacker’ look. It contrasted greatly with his uniform and demeanour in class and duels, though.

“Just wanted to remind you of our duel.” Skywalker explained, but at Sev’rance sharp glare, he put his hands up in surrender, “Another time, then.”

And he escaped, letting the door close behind him and leaving Sev’rance with her thoughts. Sighing, she looked down at the communicator and wished Vandalor was there with her if only to keep her from killing Skywalker before this was all over.

He wasn’t all that bad, though. Sometimes… Maybe… 

* * *

The fifth and final month came, and not soon enough for Sev’rance’s tastes. Skywalker was graduating with what was considered ‘upperclassmen’, though it could hardly be counted as a ‘class’. They were just former corporate officers given a refresher crash course in intergalactic warfare, so none of them begrudged Skywalker’s rapid ascension. Given Skywalker’s unique circumstances and sponsor, his commission named him a Captain of the Confederate Navy, and all the authority and pay that entailed.

It was a strange sight, a Jedi in full dress blues, saluting with a backdrop of the Confederate hexagon. It would certainly look good on propaganda pieces. Photographers and news reports, who seemed to be crowding around Skywalker far more than they were the other ‘graduates’, seemed to be trying to interrogate him on everything from the Jedi order to why he joined the Confederacy. No one could ever claim that Skywalker didn’t know how to chew the scenery, and given how thick he was laying it on? It was delicious.

“Until I was nine years old, I was a slave under the cruellest masters imaginable. The Hutts ruled Tatooine with an iron fist and oppressed anyone unfortunate enough to live on that sandblasted rock. I was raised with the stories of Jedi heroes and warriors, and so I dreamt of the day they would come to save us. After all, do the Jedi not loath slavery? Is it not anathema to all they stand for? Eventually, they came, but not to save the slaves of Tatooine. No, it was by circumstance they found Tatooine, and by circumstance they found me. Master Qui-Gon Jinn saw great potential in me, so I was saved and brought to Coruscant. In return for a new Jedi, he would damn millions. Perhaps he didn’t care, or perhaps the Jedi lacked the means to act, but isn’t that the point of the Jedi? To save those in need? For a decade, I trained under Obi-Wan Kenobi, the apprentice of Qui-Gon. For a decade, I swore to return to Tatooine and free the slaves and my mother, to destroy the Hutts and slavery across the galaxy. I was too late to save my mother…” Skywalker paused and lowered his head, building tension. After a moment passed, he continued with renewed passion in his eyes, “But not too late to see this galaxy freed from the bondage of servitude. The Jedi refuse to act, and the Republic grow rich off the backs of slaves they swore to protect. This Confederacy stands to protect those forgotten and abused by the bureaucrats on Coruscant! It will be through the flames of war and righteous indignation that this galaxy will change for the better.”

Sev’rance could only roll her eyes at his theatrics, knowing personally that, while he believed in the Confederacy, Skywalker was far from being that radical. It was all propaganda, something to sow the seeds of discontent among Jedi and civilians alike. The Confederacy had Skywalker as their moral crusader, so who did the Republic have? It would look extremely well for Confederate worlds, going that Skywalker sticks to his ideals. 

The crowd dispersed after a few more minutes of patriotic fervour, and the observers for the graduation eventually left after giving their best wishes to the recently graduated students. Sev’rance, for her part, quickly returned to their shared living space to pack. Though she wished to be part of the festivities, seeing as she and Skywalker would be going their separate ways and she had grown to tolerate his existence, orders had come through from Dooku.

Sev’rance was, officially, a General of the Confederate Military. A fleet had been gathered under her command in the Doldur Sector. The war waited for no man or woman, but Sev’rance would not be completely disconnected from her tutor-turned-comrade. His final words to her the night before told her to seek her own truth. While Sev’rance was not fully convinced that the Dark Side was not mostly better than the Light, she took heed to Anakin’s words to look among the two sides. See her former allies among Dooku’s acolytes, fight the Jedi, learn and make a decision for herself.

Sev’rance left the station aboard her fighter a stronger and better person, focused not on her personal conquests but on understanding the greater Force.

And aboard the station, Skywalker smirked. His first step to stopping Sidious was complete.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I doubled chapter four in size, so those who didn’t see that might want to jump back a chapter.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. All rights are reserved by Disney, Lucasfilm, and whatever nebulous, faceless legal team might wish to skewer me with a Cease & Desist.**

* * *

  
  


**The Reprisal of the Force**

**Chapter 5**

**Perspective: Anakin Skywalker**

* * *

_ Commander Anakin Skywalker.  _

It was a strange title, and one Anakin was unfamiliar with having. It had been decades since that title was his, short-lived though it had been. A battalion of Clones at his back, and the whole galaxy open to him.

What a naive fool he had been then. With his eyes opened to the truth of the Clone Wars and the horrors that would come, Anakin knew such youthful optimism and childish antics were things of the past. Though his colours changed, the idea stayed the same: save the galaxy from Palpatine.

The most powerful Sith of the age against some lowly Commander of the Confederacy... It felt like the start some sort of sick joke, but Anakin knew it was nothing of the sort. Left with only his knowledge and the confusing alignments of a Jedi-turned-Sith-turned-Jedi(?), Anakin had quite the uphill battle before him. The first, and utterly unintentional step, was already completed. To be completely honest, Anakin had forgotten Sev’rance Tann even existed in the first place. Her short tenure as Supreme Commander lasted only a month and was marked by minor victories before she died. When she marched onto the observation deck of the  _ Providence _ , full of furious anger and superior haughtiness, Anakin remembered that Grievous was not the first and only Supreme Commander.

Their first duel was, to make a long story short, a complete humiliation. Anakin Skywalker, master of Djem So and numerous other forms, was bested by some half-trained acolyte in his first real duel since returning. The second was almost a repeat had not accidentally slipped into the Dark Side like some Sith neophyte. It was only by his tremendous will that Anakin kept from tenderising Sev’rance’s corpse. 

His initial fear that she would run to Dooku about the discovery that Anakin was a walking, talking maelstrom of Sith power abated some when Sev’rance spent the next three days stalking him, her mind a mire of indecision and greed. The exact nature of the Sith reared its head when Sev’rance took Anakin’s desperate words to heart and approached him for training. 

To be completely honest, Anakin hadn’t expected her to bite the proverbial bait; it was just a quick attempt to keep her from bringing the wrath of Dooku down on his head. While Anakin had quite the hold over the Dark Side, mostly because his grander-than-thou goal kept him on track, the former Sith Lord had no idea how to teach it. His teaching methods as Vader, if they could see as much, were centred around telling someone what to do and torturing them until they did it right or died. As Anakin… Well, Ahsoka was certainly skilled but hopelessly arrogant and cock-sure. She never had the ‘dismemberment experience’ Anakin got to temper his arrogance. What a sad sign that the only way Anakin could teach was through violence… an apt representation of the man, some might say.

So, Anakin played his ‘teachings’ by ear. He taught her to connect to the Light Side, surprisingly enough. Sev’rance slowly lowered her barriers and revealed that behind the bitchiness and snarky attitude was a brutally intelligent and caring woman. Granted, all that care funnelled into that poor bastard Anakin had yet to learn the name of, but it was care all the same. The Dark Side latched onto fear, but Sev’rance felt no fear in regards to that man. She trusted him implicitly and was utterly confident in his skills to stay alive or escape danger. 

So, it was through that connection that Anakin forged her distance from the Dark Side of Dooku and into a more morally grey area with which Anakin was more familiar. Was he trying to make her a Grey Jedi? Of course not, the idea of a Grey Jedi was a childish, fanciful idea. Luke was the closest one could get, yet he was a Jedi through and through. Anakin was closer to the Dark than the Light, though the face he put forth for Sev’rance was of someone leaning further the other way. 

And yet, as Anakin redeveloped his forms and fought without aid from the Dark Side, Sev’rance seemed to become more and more intuned to his wildest dreams. She became calmer, more logical, and yet seemed kinder in comparison to when they first met months before. Bitterness over his position evolved into an amused annoyance, especially when Anakin was involved. Though he would hesitate to call them friends, Sev’rance saw Anakin in a far better light now.

His final words were a spur-of-the-moment thing, but Anakin had a feeling she would be repulsed by what she was like upon meeting the other Acolytes. The Asajj Ventress’s and Sora Bulq’s were little more than caged animals, waiting to be unleashed by their master.

Anakin chuckled, amazed his plans rapidly strung together projects worked as well as they did and wondering if it was the will of the Force at play? That was a train of thought for another day, however, for Anakin’s first orders as a newly minted officer of the Confederate Navy was to return to Serenno and meet with Dooku. 

Adorned in a freshly pressed uniform of blue, grey, and green, Anakin boarded the shuttle that had first brought him to the college. His teachers and former peers waved their good-byes to Anakin.  _ The Last True Jedi  _ they called him, seeing Anakin’s former comrades as butchers and warmongers now.  _ The Last True Jedi _ , Anakin could only imagine the field day Dooku’s propaganda ministry was having with that one. 

Sev’rance was already gone if her missing fighter was anything to go by. Hopefully, she would keep Anakin’s many lessons in mind. If not… Well, Anakin wouldn’t lose too much sleep over killing another follower of Palpatine’s madness, even if she was only as much indirectly.

That raised the issue of Dooku, who was neither Jedi nor Sith. Unlike Anakin, who had seen both paths and found them wanting, Dooku liked to pretend he was a Sith while never delving deep enough to become one truly. At least, not yet.

However, he would keep such observations to himself when in the presence of the Count, like he was about to be. Anakin’s shuttle dropped out of hyperspace over the ever-beautiful world of Serenno. Despite the months that had passed, little had changed on the spiritual capital of the Confederacy. Its sizeable defence fleet still held their positions within the orbit, keeping to the computer precision of droids.

Unlike the last time they spoke, Anakin would not be meeting the Count aboard his favoured warship: the  _ Providence _ . The shuttle pilot, an OOM-series droid, sent its appropriate codes and manoeuvred the shuttle past the fleet. Anakin could see, even where he was seated in the cockpit of the old Sheathipede, that the point-defence cannons of the closer ships swivelled to keep pace with the passing shuttle.

Anakin snorted at the level of paranoia but could see the point. Dooku was, after all, one of the most important men in the Galaxy.

The shuttle entered Serenno’s orbit, passing into a lovely, sunny afternoon over Dooku’s palace. The second series of security checks and passcodes passed between the pilot and ground operators before they gracelessly drifted towards the ground. The Sheathipede, like most things produced by the Confederacy, lacked grace in any form. The spindly legs of the shuttle buckled under the shuttle’s weight, causing the cockpit to shudder before the shuttle managed to find balance.

As the droid completed the post-flight checklist, Anakin left the cockpit and threw his officer’s coat on. Gone were his Jedi robes and cloak, at least as his regular dress wear. The Confederate uniform was breathable, ergonomic, and robust, made for a military that forwent the pompousness of Core officers. However, Anakin failed to see the point of the trench coat.

The remainder of his worldly belongings left aboard the shuttle, as ordered. Dooku wanted to speak to Anakin personally before sending him on his first campaign. 

At the bottom of the boarding ramp, a pair of Dooku’s ever-present Magnaguards awaited him. Their cloaks were immaculate as ever, covering the small arsenal of weapons they had hidden beneath. The electro staffs, on the other hand, were held out in the open as a clear sign of their preparedness.

“The Count has been waiting for your arrival,” The first one droned in Basic, to Anakin’s surprise as he had suspected they could only speak the incomprehensible tongue of their manufacturers.

“And so I’m here,” Anakin responded readily, folding his hands behind his back and looking every part the disciplined officer. His irreverent tone must have ruined the effect, as both droids just stared at Skywalker.

“Your weapon,” The other demanded, holding out its freehand. Without hesitation, Anakin turned over his lightsaber. War, it seemed, had made Dooku far more cautious than the last time they had spoken. Anakin could respect the man’s paranoia; he would never let an armed Jedi or Sith in his presence without certain assurances.

“Follow.” Both droids turned and marched towards the vast palace, Anakin following at an equally brisk pace. The entrance hall was immense, though its former beauty seemed marred by the heavy defences erected by security droids, Serenno PDF personnel, and Magnaguards. Laser and rotary cannons followed Anakin’s progress across the hall. Anakin, feeling a small amount of confidence, waved up at the gun positions. Unfortunately, no one returned the favour.

The entrance hallway, though dotted with other exits and paths, ended in a massive blast door. It slid open as the company of three approached, opening to reveal an equally massive, nearly identical hall. While he couldn’t be sure, Anakin suspected it had once been a dining hall of sorts. The bolt holes and periodic colour changes lent credence to the idea that a massive table had been there at some point. Unless Dooku just liked building-sized offices, as a desk rested at the other end of the hall before the grand windows. Dooku sat in the chair, facing away from the new arrivals as he took in the vast forest behind his palace.

The only sound was the steady footfalls of Anakin and his two escorts, proceeding under the watchful gazes of well over one-hundred completely stationary Magnaguards. During the short transit, Anakin idly wondered what would happen if a Jedi strike force breached this deep into Fortress Dooku. Not only would they have to overrun the large fleet above, but battle their way past the ground defences, the kill zone within the entrance hall, and several hundred Magnaguards before even reaching Dooku himself, who was an extremely skilled fighter himself… Eh, he could do it at his height as Vader.

“Skywalker, I see you have returned from your sojourn to Raxus. I hope you have learned something from the military college?” Dooku asked once Anakin was within reasonable speaking distance, his tone gentle and conversational. With their last conversation in mind, Anakin paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to Dooku and spoke with a calm and respectful tone.

“Indeed I did, Count. Though I find that experience is infinitely more useful than book knowledge.”

“A mentality your fellow Jedi have, thankfully, not yet achieved,” Dooku commented, finally turning his seat about to face Anakin directly. Anakin let a slight scowl cross his face, memories of the early days of the Clone Wars coming unbidden. The Republic defence fleets were under-armed and lacked commanding officers at first, indeed far too few for their suddenly massive fleets flooding out of Kuat, Corellia, and others. The Jedi indeed weren’t military commanders and had no idea how to lead war fleets or planetary invasions. The CIS didn’t have such a disadvantage. Corporate officers with decades of experience commanding fleets of ships and launching planetary invasions moped the floor with Jedi officers. The likes of Loathsom didn’t need to be  _ good _ ; they just needed to be better than the Jedi and inexperienced Clone Marshals. 

Of course, the later stages of the war were the complete opposite. Without a centralised military college to collect and organise new knowledge, the CIS kept pumping out officers who learnt nothing from their predecessors. A series of poorly trained, underprepared officers only made the CIS’s inevitable defeat sooner. Anakin planned to fix this issue before it became as much, but the questions remained as to how…?

“Long dead though he may be, the history of Revan is still well-taught. They expected warmasters, but what they have are intergalactic scholars.” Anakin said in agreement. Dooku nodded sagely for a second, eyes becoming distant and clouded over as he contemplated something. 

Anakin studied the face of his benefactor, feeling out of his depths in the grand game of politics while manoeuvring against his former enemy. While he had expected Dooku to accept his offer to join the Confederacy, the ease and speed at which Dooku allowed Anakin to join were unexpected to the point of suspicion. It was the nature of the Sith to betray one-another, but was Dooku already planning to do so? Or did he genuinely believe in the Confederacy enough that it made sense, in a warped sort of way, that a  _ reasonable Jedi  _ would want to join?

Or perhaps it was neither, and Dooku was playing at a game more significant than even the wildest dreams of Anakin?

“There are some in the government who see you as our Revan, Commander Skywalker,” Dooku finally said, focusing back into the conversation as if he had not just zoned out. Anakin straightened at that, a slight scowl flickering across his face as it warred for dominance with surprise.

“Certainly you are joking, I haven’t done anything yet, Sir.”

Dooku chuckled good-naturedly, manipulating the console before him and bringing up a propaganda hologram. It flickered to life and cast them both in its dm, blue glow.

“The Propaganda Ministry had been having a field day, Commander. The ‘Last True Jedi’, they’re calling you.”

The poster reminded Anakin of the propaganda works from the early days of the Empire, making him briefly wonder if Sidious managed to rope in the same people. However, instead of Darth Vader alongside a legion of Stormtroopers, it was Anakin Skywalker and several SBDs. A more cartoony Anakin stood on what seemed to be a ledge, lightsaber pointed somewhere out of frame with a stern look on his face. A cape billowed out from his back, and some battle plate covered his arms, legs, and torso. His uniform still looked as spartan as usual underneath, though. Barring that, Anakin certainly looked every part the Jedi Warlord from days of old. At the bottom of the picture were a line of similarly cartoony SBDs, with extremely oversized shoulders and upper torsos. They were marching int he direction poster-Anakin was pointing with his lightsaber, arms extended and ready to blast. Above, across the cloudy sky, swarms of droid starfighters and distant frigates moved with their ground-based brethren. Superimposed over the entire work of art was a massive caption: “The Last True Jedi Fights for Your Rights, Don’t Let Him Fight Alone! Enlist Today!”

“It certainly is… eye-catching…” Anakin said after a moment’s pause, giving the poster another once-over, “I don’t own armour like that… or a cape.” 

“The Ministry approached me and my subordinates for… shall we say  _ inspiration _ ? Naturally, it would not do for the ‘real deal’ not to live up to expectations.” 

The whine of a door opening somewhere behind Anakin drew his attention, causing the former Jedi to turn. A single servant, a young man far better dressed than Anakin, pushed a hovering trolly from one of the nearer side doors. The guards didn’t react to the man’s appearance, telling Anakin this was an expected intrusion.

The trolly came to a stop next to Anakin before the servant bowed and left the same way he came.

“A gift, Commander, to celebrate your graduation,” Dooku explained as Anakin grabbed the chest plate from the trolly. It was surprisingly light, with a little give to it though not enough to be plastoid or some other compound… at least, not that primarily. 

“Sith battle plate from a bygone era,” Dooku explained as Anakin studied the multiple pieces arrayed before him, “Made from a cortosis-plastoid composite alloy. As light as plastoid and as tough as durasteel, or so the legends say. While it won’t stop a lightsaber completely, it will certainly spare you a potentially embarrassing death at the hands of a blaster-wielding simpleton.”

The armour was primarily grey with a blue outline along the edges of the blate. Over the right breast of the chest plate was the Confederate hexagon, which was surrounded by a thin circle. The words ‘Commander’ and ‘Anakin Skywalker’ portrayed in a thin, sharp script. Anakin, impressed though he was with the armour, was suddenly leery at using it at the word ‘Sith’. Reaching out with the Force, Anakin could sense the residual Dark Side energy permeating from the old armour, but it was little more than a lingering part of the grander design. The only thing new about the plate was the coat of paint, though it felt wrong not to at least offer some token complaint.

“Sith battle plate? Not dropping the attempts to convert me, it seems?”

“All Jedi will see the true path, sooner or later,” Was all the response Dooku offered as he shrugged, seeming unconcerned that Anakin saw through his ploy at softening him up. Anakin scoffed before setting the chest plate back down, running a hand along the outside of the other pieces and sensing their lingering darkness as well. He was no master of feeling echoes from the Force, but Anakin could sense that a great Sith Warrior and once used this armour. All of it was smooth to the touch and angled, far closer to Confederate design practices than Sith, Anakin would never be able to figure out from what era the Sith originated.

“You will try, Count. You’ll find my will is far stronger than that, though.”

“I would be disappointed if you converted that easily,” So came the unexpectedly honest answer from Dooku, doing little to abate Anakin’s growing suspicions regarding the Count of Serenno.

“Am I to presume I wasn’t just invited here for idle chit-chat?” Anakin asked, hoping to get to business as the trolly, without any apparent external force, was pushed from the table and down the hallway that Anakin had entered. 

Dooku’s face lost any joviality or amusement, becoming the stern, serious look with which Anakin was far more comfortable and familiar. He pressed a button on the console in front of him, vanishing the propaganda image and making the hologram of a planet appear.

“Botajef,” Count Dooku explained as the blue hologram didn't make it easy to distinguish planetary characteristics beyond ‘it’s a sphere’. Anakin nodded, his extensive knowledge of the Outer Rim returning in an instant. It’s surprising how much you pick up when galavanting across the galaxy at the head of the largest fleet ever amassed.

“Belsmuth Setor, at the crossroad of the Salin Corridor and Hydian Way. An important planet in that pocket, if you can hold it.” Anakin stated, trying to remember what Confederate holdings were in that region. Barring the territory…  _ sold  _ to the Confederacy by the Banking Clan, Agamar was the only local loyal world. Hydian shot up through the Corporate Sector, but given that they were nominally neutral, and the Confederacy didn’t want to tread any more toes than necessary, Anakin saw this operation as what it was: busy work to test his abilities. Anakin knew somewhere in his mountains of copies reports there was something on troop movements over Agamar, but the planet wasn’t all that vital. The IGBC-owned territory was entirely self-sufficient and could survive without a direct line to the more extensive Confederacy.

Unless, of course, the Confederacy found the steam to fight their way along the length of the Celanon Spur and read Ord Mantel.

Regardless, Dooku raised an eyebrow, evidently impressed Anakin was aware of the crossroad. He continued as if Anakin didn’t interrupt.

“The government of Botajef has already sworn their allegiance to our Confederacy. However, the Republic still controls the planet of Bandomeer as well as the hyperspace lane connecting it to Agamar. Rear Admiral Maruun Tetoff is overseeing the operation to secure both. I have already informed him of both your and your fleet’s impending arrivals. You will be under his direct command for the duration of the operation.”

It was a straightforward operation, Bandomeer wasn’t vital outside of its position near a nearly equally useless planet. However, it was an acceptable way for Anakin to stretch his legs and get comfortable in the position of the commanding officer.

“Fleet?” Anakin repeated, surprised he was just being gifted a bunch of ships so easily and made immediately suspicious at their catch. Even as Vader, he had to fight his way through acquisition offices to get his hands on new ships for Death Squadron. Grand Moffs and Admirals shivered at sight or sound of Vader, but an acquisitions officer could stare Vader dead in the eye and tell him to piss off. Those men and women did not fear death; they had experienced far worse daily.

“It will be waiting for you over Agamar; Admiral Maruun awaits your arrival at Botajef. Is this within your means, Commander Skywalker?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you are dismissed, may the Force be with you.”

“And with you.” 

Dooku turned his seat back around to stare out the window of his grand dining room-turned-office, an apparent dismissal if Anakin had ever seen one. Anakin rose and turned, leaving the desk behind with the trolly of armour hovering behind him. The two Magnaguards that escorted him into the palace in the first pace now followed Anakin back out through the layers of defences. Laser cannons and blaster emplacements followed Anakin with the same tenacity they did when he entered, showing admirable professionalism.

Upon reaching the shuttle he arrived in, Anakin’s lightsaber found its way back onto his person. With it came a pair of code cylinders, one pure grey and the other black.

“One is your access code for the fleet, and the other is your officer identification codes.” The Magnaguard explained, holding both in turn before turning the items over to Anakin. They slipped quickly into their designated pockets on Anakin’s breast, completing the uniform some. The other guard had loaded the armour pieces onto the shuttle during the exchange, sparing no more conversation as Anakin’s shuttle left the landing platform.

Leaving the armour, for the time being, Anakin entered the cockpit and claimed the co-pilot’s seat.

“Set course for Botajef,” Anakin ordered, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and closing his eyes for a quick rest/meditation.

“Roger, roger,” The droid droned before going through the same checks and clearances it used on their arrival. It took a few moments before they escaped the atmosphere of Serenno and got far enough away to jump into hyperspace. 

The swirling vortex of blue was a lovely backdrop for Anakin’s well-deserved rest.

* * *

Upon arriving in Botajef’s system, Anakin learned why this region was crucial beyond just its positioning. Vast shipyards surrounded the planet, tethered to its surface and protected by a veritable armada of cruisers and frigates. The Empire had never used Botajef as a ship manufacturing centre, preferring to keep such construction close to the Core and as such nearer to the Emperor’s influence. Though it was no Kuat, though, the yards above Botajef would give any enterprising Republic officer pause, especially when they saw the orbital hypervelocity cannons stationed just in the planet’s orbit.

The moment they entered the system, Anakin’s pilot became bombarded with demands for identification as well as mechanically delivered threats. Anakin pressed the black cylinder to a port in the ship’s dashboard, instantly silencing the communications for several moments.

“Order received. Approach  _ Expansion  _ at your current speed, change approach vector by…” Anakin zoned the idle chatter of the droids and technicians, letting his pilot guide their shuttle towards one of the leviathan Lucrehulks. Unlike the others around Botajef, this one was relatively unharassed by repair and construction crews. Likely one of the first of its kind, the  _ Expansion  _ was a military-grade Lucrehulk-class Battleship. It bristled with guns, several times the magnitude of its Trade Federation brethren. Anakin could vividly remember fighting against their ilk during the Clone Wars and for the decades after. Despite the purported power of the Imperial-class line of Star Destroyers, they often struggled against the Lucrehulk battleship in single combat, not even counting in the hordes of fighters the leviathan ship carried.

Anakin’s pilot guided the shuttle into one of the massive hangar bays. The interior still gleamed with recently dried paint, and the walls were covered from the floor to the ceiling in hordes of gleaming vulture droids and their ilk. All had been relatively quiet on this front thus far.

A droid technician guided the shuttle down into its designated anding position, away from the hustle and bustle of the ship’s mechanical crew. It was a protocol droid, silver as one would expect, that greeted Anakin.

“Rear Admiral Tetoff is awaiting you in his office, Commander Skywalker.” The droid said in its feminine voice, indicating towards the nearest doorway. At Anakin’s short nod, the droid led the way across the hangar and into the unmarked, ever confusing mess of hallways. The weakness of having a droid army strikes again, as organic officers struggle to navigate the labyrinth hallways… Then again, in a boarding action, it becomes a struggle for the attackers as well…

The trip to the office ended soon after it began, finding Anakin standing before the Admiral.

Tetoff was an ageing human, his white hair and crisscrossing lines of stress speaking of a life of action. A scar, reminiscent of one Anakin received in a past life, slashed across one milky eye, which had turned up to look at Anakin alongside its still functioning partner.

The man’s expression, which seemed locked into a perpetual scowl, did not change when he noticed Anakin. If anything, it seemed to deepen in disdain as he regarded Anakin’s lightsaber.

“Commander Skywalker,” Tetoff’s voice was more of a growl than anything else like he was perpetually choking down gravel, “Count Dooku speaks highly of you.”

“I hope to live up to expectations, sir,” Anakin responded as neutrally as he could, already getting the feeling this Admiral did not much like him. Tetoff, for his part, did not rise to the bai. Instead, he activated a holomap and let it take over space above his desk. It showcased a segment of the galaxy, more specifically, the section of hyperspace lane that separated Agamar and Bandomeer.

“I need this lane captured before the month is out. I want you to be at Halmad and ready to launch a two-pronged attack on Bandomeer with Captain Gardeen. A fleet is waiting for you at Agamar, dismissed.” And with that, the Admiral deactivated the hologram and returned to whatever work he was doing before Anakin’s arrival.

Knowing a dismissal when he saw one, Anakin snapped off a crisp salute to the Admiral and left the way he came. The droids waiting for Anakin led him back to the shuttle, and Anakin was out of the battle carrier fifteen minutes after arriving.

Leaving was a far less obnoxious affair, and soon the shuttle disappeared into hyperspace. The trip from Botajef to Agamar went quicker than Anakin had expected, but not as much as he had hoped. Confederate convoys and patrols ensured Republic raiders or interdiction mines didn’t make his life more painful than it needed to be. Unfortunately, that also meant that at every junction, checkpoint, and celestial body, they had to stop and go through the rigamarole of security checks. Thankfully, none of these stops ever lasted long. The droids officers had streamlining down to an art form, and Anakin’s officer credentials got them past much of the questioning and confirmations. It took nearly a day, but Anakin’s shuttle finally dropped out of hyperspace over the Confederate frontier planet of Agamar. The sight that greeted him was one that would haunt his nightmares for a decade to come.

When Dooku and the Admiral informed him that he had had a fleet, Anakin took that information with a grain of salt. He had expected a small fleet of heavy frigates; perhaps a few hastily converted Dreadnaught-class cruisers or Recuscant destroyers. What Anakin saw was none of those possibilities; it was far worse.

The ships were arrayed in a tight, organised formation, showing a droid was in charge of their positioning for the time being. That did little to hide the state or make of the ships. 

At the centre of the formation were the ships Anakin was most familiar with: Munificents and Recuscants. However, there were only five of the former and two of the latter, and those Recuscants looked worryingly under armoured. A swarm of freighters, most looking to be civilian models, sat in tight clusters centred around the larger ships. What their purpose there was remained a mystery to Anakin, though the lack of dedicated carrier painted a grim picture. The largest ship of the fleet was set off to one side mostly because its sheer mass would overextend the already pathetic collection of vessels. A Lucrehulk, still resplendent in its tan Federation colours, dwarfed the rest of the ships by several times, but its mass did little for Anakin. Unlike the dedicated warship variants of the Lucrehulk, this one was not bristling in cannons. Even from the edge of the system, the shuttle’s sensors could only pick up token defences along the outer hull, mostly to harass fighters or corvettes.

Huddled behind it and the frigates was a small squadron of Hardcell transports with oversized concussion launchers and laser cannons strapped on, a couple of C-9979s likely acting in a corvette position, and a… by the Force,  _ was that a Citadel? _

Anakin didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry, perhaps a bit of both. A series of rapid communications passed between his chauffeur and the commanding officers of Agamar’s significantly more extensive defence fleet. He could almost hear the laughter in the voices of the droid operators, despite them lacking the means to feel or display emotion.

The second stage of communications was with the flagship of the small fleet, one of the Munificent’s aptly named the ‘Neophyte’. Lacking a hangar bay, Anakin’s pilot had to manoeuvre the rear of the shuttle to line up with the boarding umbilical on the frigate. It was relatively easy, mostly due to the mechanical precision of droids, and Anakin soon found himself aboard his new flagship.

A pair of OOM-series security droids, as if this entire operation weren’t embarrassing enough, led him through the featureless hallways to the bridge. The overexposed, primarily-window based bridge was much as Anakin remembered among the ship’s ilk, the levels of the command deck filled with engineers and pilots going about their routines. The captain’s chair was facing away from Anakin, though the lack of a Force signature of any kind told him it was a droid.

“Welcome, Commander Skywalker,” A deep, monotone voice growled from the seat’s occupant before it stood up, turning to face Anakin with its hands clasped behind its back, “To the  _ Neophyte. _ ”

Anakin hid his surprise well enough at the officer’s appearance. The droid was a tactical droid, primarily coloured in a dark, nearly black, purple and trimmed by tan lines crisscrossing along its arms, torso, and head. Its blocky chest and thin arms were almost as distinct as its visored head, but Anakin was not surprised to see a tactical droid in the fleet, more that he not expected to see one this early in the war. He didn’t know when they appeared first in the war, but five months after the conflict’s start seemed soon, especially for a no-name Commander.

“Greetings, Captain,” Anakin guessed at what the droid’s analogue rank would be, unfamiliar with the ranking among droids. Back in the Clone Wars, the specially coloured ones were typically officers, the specifics didn’t matter past that. Deciding to play the part of the uninformed, he continued, “I can’t say I’m familiar with your model.”

“I am TX-0013, a T-Series tactical droid produced by Baktoid Combat Automata. I am to serve as your direct subordinate and advisor in all combat and non-combat operations regarding this fleet and its attached ground-based forces,” The droid’s monotone voice explained, still managing to sound sinister despite the nature of its words. 

So it was a newer addition unless the last four digits were utterly meaningless. Anakin knew for sure that the ‘TX’ meant it was one of the first versions of the tactical droid widely used by the Confederacy, but it again raised Anakin’s immediate question: why was it here?

TX-0013 could sense Anakin’s burning question, as it continued speaking.

“I was the second command of Rear Admiral Haldrat prior to his death and the subsequent destruction of the former flagship of the 23rd Assault Squadron,” The droid explained, indicating vaguely out the windows of the bridge. Anakin raised an eyebrow, finding it surprising as well as unlikely that someone with such a mismatched fleet would get his hands on an early run of tactical droids.

“And this is all that remains of the 23rd?”

“Negative,” The droid responded, catching Anakin off-guard. The droid turned to face the window entirely and pointed out a single, perfectly identical Munificent a little way in front of the  _ Neophyte _ , “The  _ Ambassador _ is the only other remaining ship from the 23rd Assault Squadron. The remaining three Munificent-class Star Frigates, the  _ Forerunner _ ,  _ Tide of Profit XXIII _ , and  _ MF-227 _ are all that remains of the 1st Ketaris Defence Force. The LH-3210, know as the  _ Successor _ , was detached from the 55th Neimodian Shock Regiment for repairs and refitting before their dissolution following the Battle of Geonosis. The Citadel-class Cruiser was purchased from a black market vendor before being seized by the 3rd Agamar Escort Fleet. The two Recuscant-class Light Destroyers are all that remains from the 212th Raider Squadron. Those freighters…”

And on the list went. This squadron was not a cohesive, purpose-built fleet. No, it was a cobbled-together mess of ships from several former units or fleets all dumped in the same location. More likely than not, most slated to be sent off deep into Confederate space for guard duty or other minor stations. With Anakin granted command and his commission, the ships became given new life… And he had to figure out how to beat a new, well-armed force of Republic warships.

“TX, send it to my console,” Anakin ordered, cutting off the droid as it continued to describe, in painstaking detail, where each of the freighters came from and how they ended up in the unnamed squadron.

“As you wish, Commander.” The droid responded with a dip of its head, turning to face him and awaiting further orders. Anakin took the Captain’s seat, looking out of the fleet given to him by Count Dooku. It was small, under-armed, and severely lacking in dedicated warships. He would have to check later, but Anakin had a sneaking suspicion that more than a few of the Munificents’ present were not purpose-built heavy frigates, their weapons seemed too haphazard and against regulation…

Stowing that thought away, for the time being, Anakin addressed his recently named second-in-command.

“Am I to assume the late Rear Admiral had some sort of favour with Baktoid?” Anakin asked, still curious how this droid ended up under this ‘Haldrat’. 

“Rear Admiral Haldrat was, formerly, an employee under the Intergalactic Banking Clan, a Captain-Enforcer. It was his favourite with Chairman of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, San Hill, that allowed him access to many prototype weapons and droids, myself included.”

Well, that would do it. It was always refreshing to see that nepotism was still a significant factor, even in the purportedly just Confederacy.

“On another note,  _ Neophyte  _ is a curious name for a ship.”

“This ship was formerly known as the ‘ _ Proposition _ ’ up until 0030 hours before I was informed of your placement as my commander,” TX-0013 droned, moving to stand at Anakin’s side. A small trickle of annoyance moved up Anakin’s spine at that revelation, but it could always be a coincidence…

“Who decided the name change?”

“My orders came from offices of the Naval Chief of Staff. I was not informed at which level this decision was made.” Anakin scratched at his clean-shaven chin, pursing his lips in thought. Was this Dooku making a statement or merely coincidence… No, this reeked of Dooku’s action. A mocking gesture or perhaps a reminder that Anakin was new and therefore seen as an outsider? It remained to be seen.

“Very well, prepare the fleet to jump. We are headed to the Borgo Prime system. Have the officers ready for a meeting in 0100 hours. Send all relevant information on the Braxant Run and the fleet to my console in… wherever my quarters are.”

“As you command, sir. However, this fleet has yet to be named. My credentials do not cover the majority of the fleet.” Anakin paused, giving the idea of a name a moment’s thought. If he wished to be cheeky, which ought to happen given his current state and general good mood as of late, he could reclaim the name of ‘Death Squadron’ or the ‘501st’, but… No, the past needed to be done away with. It was a new age for Anakin, and soon to be a new age for the greater galaxy.

“The Agamar Irregular Squadron.” Anakin declared, finding the name unique enough to give the squadron some personality while not being overly pretentious. The idea was shot down in short order by TX-0013’s voice.

“There have already been four separate Agamar Irregular Squadrons.” That was a slight issue, but at the present moment, Anakin couldn’t much think of a better name. At a later date, he would address the question again, but preferably after they met their allotted time table.

“Then we’ll be number five,” Anakin waved his hand dismissively, rising from the appropriated seat, “Have the credentials across the squadron changed and make the jump.”

“By your command, sir. OOM-27 will show you to your quarters. I shall contact you when the officers are gathered.”

With that, the droid returned to its seat and began barking out orders to the droids. The flurry of movement Anakin left behind had the rigidness and discipline he remembered from his days leading the Imperial Navy, make of that what you will. The dull, featureless hallways, emotionless faceplates, and silence barring the distant hum of the engines also brought back unbidden memories of the Navy. How ironic that Palpatine scorned the idea of using droids, yet his organic soldiers acted more like them than the Clones ever did.

Anakin and his guard arrived at the set-aside room. Dismissing the droid, Anakin took in his quarters. Despite the general lack of fancy designs or extravagant displays aboard the frigate, the Captain’s quarters were quite sizeable. He had vague memories of the quarters of Piett and his numerous predecessors; the room was barely the Admiral’s arm width wide and thrice that as long. Anakin’s quarters aboard the  _ Neophyte _ , on the other hand, were at least twice that in size, maybe more. Having an all-mechanical crew granted certain liberties.

Quietly noting his luggage set aside on the bed, Anakin pulled out the chair to his simple desk. In the surface of the desk sat a console, and at the press of a button, a screen flipped up. A few moments of navigation proved there were no limitations in place. If he wanted to peruse the HoloNet or Shadowfeeds unrestricted, hew as free to do so. However, given his limited time, Anakin opted to learn about the fleet he was given command of. TX-0013, proving his usefulness, had already sent the report to Anakin’s mailbox. It was a massive collection of troop listings, armament manifests, and every piece of minutiae he would need to know. Anakin settled into his stiffly padded seat for a long period of reading.

* * *

Perhaps he was beginning to sound like a broken receiver, but Anakin was astounded by how unsuited for combat his fleet was. 

TX-0013 was not speaking in hyperbole when it claimed that the 5th Agamar Irregular Fleet was mix of separate and incompatible squadrons if anything he had underplayed it! The  _ Neophyte  _ and its sister ship were the only purpose-built warships in the fleet, outfitted with top-of-the-line turbolaser batteries and bow ion cannons, perfect for softening up larger targets before they fell upon them. Despite these improvements, the pair of Munificents still had pathetic shielding and under-developed armour, making them glass cannons in the most literal sense of the word.

The other Munificents were not so fortunate. None of them had uniform weapons, barring the vague descriptor of ‘turbolaser batteries’ and ‘laser cannons’. Only two even had ion cannons to start with, though all of them followed the design scheme of their warborne kin: bow-placed forward-facing cannons. Unlike the  _ Neophyte _ , however, they had heavy turbolasers instead of the infinitely more useful heavy ion cannons. The purpose was the same, but the execution was beyond poor. None of them was purpose-built for war, or even moderate combat, having all either been freighters or communication relay ships. Where the  _ Neophyte _ ’s shields and armour were laughable, the rest made Anakin want to curl up and cry.

The Recusants, on the other hand, had been an attempt at adapting escort frigates into stop-gap destroyers. They were convoy raiders, and not necessarily good ones. Unlike their modern, war-built adaptations, they were dreadfully slow and horribly under shielded. Perhaps their one advantage was their armouring, mostly because removing any more plating could best be described as a ‘safety hazard’. Even then, they would never last under the concentrated fire of a dedicated warship.

The freighters, of which there were too many to name and few were recognisable as their original models, all ranged from different ages, purposes, and sources. Who they belonged to originally was a mystery even TX-0013 could not answer, though the fact that they were formerly licenced under the Ministry of Convoy Escort & Protection at least pointed them in the right direction. All were designed for anti-fighter duty or light carriers, most holding anywhere between a single fighter to two dozen. Naturally, most required pilots as these ships would have been operating without a greater hivemind to control droid fighters, which meant quality control could be best described as nonexistent. When he saw a Supa Fighter listed among those ships, Anakin briefly debated if he should just order TX-0013 to shoot him now and spare him the second-hand embarrassment.

The Hardcells and lander-turned-corvette were, perhaps, the least offensive. They were built for a specific purpose and succeeded at them in spades. The Hardcells were mostly torpedo boats, meant to exploit weaknesses opened by larger ships, while the C-9979 was oversized and slow, but was also blistering with weapon hardpoints and had a shield generator for a ship five times its size. 

This, finally, led to the largest ship in the fleet: the  _ Successor _ . Despite its tremendous size, the Lucrehulk had a weapon complement roughly similar to one of the Munificents, one of the  _ bad  _ ones. It also lacked fights, only having a couple dozen with which it was supposed to protect itself or its true purpose: troop transport. The Successor was filled to the brim with landers and shuttles, as well as a sizable complement of droid tanks and walkers. Most came fresh from Geonosis, meaning they were built with state-of-the-art weapon systems and droid computers. The issue was where the Lucrehulk came from, namely the 55th  _ Neimoidian  _ Shock Regiment. Over three-hundred thousand soldiers of the Neimoidian Gunnery Battalion, refit and rearmed to act as Confederate Shock Troopers. They, in turn, were joined by an additional one-hundred thousand OOM-series battle droids acting in auxiliary positions. Most had no experience in open, vicious combat, and fewer still were adequately trained to use the objectively worse CIS weapons over their standard-issue blasters. Even in his ground forces Anakin had little to work with, as more than half the 55th were scattered to the galactic winds during the mass exodus from Geonosis. The 55th had been set to be absorbed into some larger force, but were quickly redirected to Agamar to serve under Anakin.

Was this Dooku having a joke at his expense? Anakin briefly feared Dooku might be trying to kill him via under armed forces but pushed the thought aside, Dooku could have killed him far sooner and far more clandestine ways to do it now if he so chose.

Anakin’s sigh of ever-increasing annoyance filled the empty hall, drowning out the distant hum of the  _ Neophyte _ ’s engines. His steps, matching that of his guide in the form of another red-marked OOM-series droid, ended at yet another featureless doorway, differentiated from the walls surrounding it by a green trim.

_ Green trim on the ships, green trim on the uniforms, green trim on the blasted doors, what is with the Seppies and the colour green? _

The droid stood to one side upon opening the door, revealing a conference hall filled with holograms. More than two dozen officers were arranged here, though only two were distinct enough to be recognized. To the right of the remaining empty spot was TV-0013, his hologram likely coming in from the bridge of the  _ Neophyte _ . The other, located in the middle of the pack on the right, was a haggard and deathly gaunt Neimoidian with what Anakin suspected to be a scowl set into his alien features. It was always difficult to read their species, their expressions did not change beyond the tightening around their eyes. The rest were battle droids, though of which model line Anakin could only guess. The physical differences between the OOM-series and B1-series battle droids were minuscule at best, and the differences between their sub-classes even less so. All used yellow for officers, though that would only matter if Anakin could differentiate any of the subtle differences in the blue of their holograms.

“Presenting Commander Anakin Skywalker,” TX-0013 spoke in its usually measured and monotone cadence, indicated towards Anakin with one hand, “He was selected by Count Dooku to act as commander of the 5th Agamar Irregular Fleet.”

None of the droids responded, their programmers likely finding it pointless to add saluting or sycophantry to their code. Anakin could respect that, as the borderline fanaticism Imperial officers showed when attempting to salute Vader bordered on the bizarre. Though, it was rather uncanny to see all of their heads turn at once to look at him, their cold photoreceptors staring blankly up at Anakin.

Anakin silently took his seat, studying the mechanical faces arrayed before him. The impossible to read Neimoidian stared back at Anakin with his face still set into a permanent frown.

Deciding not to stand on ceremony, Anakin began the meeting.

“As the Captain said,” Anakin started, not wishing to repeated TX-0013’s name every time he referred to the droid, “I am Commander Skywalker. I’ll forgo the introductions and get directly into the purpose of this meeting.”

Anakin looked down at the console in front of his seat, find it activated and ready for usage. A few moments of manipulation brought up a hologram of Bandomeer.

“Bandomeer, located at the intersection of the Hydian Way and the Braxant Run. Its position near Botajef makes it the ideal position to put up defences and stall a Republic attack… or the perfect place to stage an invasion. Taking Bandomeer is paramount to our holdings in the region as well as opening another hyperspace lane between Botajef and Agamar. Our mission is to secure control over Braxant and link up with the main fleet over Bandomeer. There, our combined forces will overwhelm and crush the Republic defenders.” 

Anakin then turned to TX-0013, realizing he had no idea what to expect on the hyperspace lane. Hoping to save face, he nodded to the droid and continued, “TX-0013, tell us what we can expect.”

TX-0013, for its part, took to its given task with gusto. The hologram changed to show the entire length of Braxant, from Agamar to Bandomeer. 

“Excluding Agamar and Bandomeer, there are five major systems on the Braxant Run. Of them, only one is notable: Halmad.” The droid highlighted the system in question, at the very edge of the Run and a short distance from Bandomeer, “Following the Declaration of Secession by the Provisional Government of Axxila, a number of self-declared ‘Free Axxilans’ fled to the planet, many from the former Axxilan Planetary Defence Force. With them came the Axxilan Sector Defence Fleet, rallied under the banner of an unknown officer. The Axxilan Sector Defence Fleet has since merged with the Braxant Anti-Piracy Patrol Squadron and protects the Braxant Run from both exterior and interior threats. Against a normal fleet of the Confederacy, this meagre force would be no threat to us, however, with the 5th Agamar Irregular Fleet…”

Anakin tapped the table for a second, musing on TX-0013’s words. Despite the droid’s complete dismissal of most planets on the Run, it wouldn’t do to go in blind. He would have to look into each planet just so they weren’t caught off-guard.

“I won’t sugar coat this, we aren’t in a good spot,” Anakin explained, cutting back into the briefing, “However, we have a mission, and I will see it completed. Set course for Borgo Prime, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes. TX-0013, have a probe droid sent ahead and report back to me the moment we have visual on the system.”

“By your command, Commander.” With that, almost simultaneously, all of the droids and the one other organic vanished, ending their communications. Anakin rose from his seat and left the conference room, led by his silent guard back to his room.

It seemed that there was more research ahead for him.

* * *

As it turned out, TX-0013 was not speaking in hyperbole when it called almost every planet on the Braxant Run ‘beneath notice’. Most were either barren rocks or underdeveloped mining and trading posts. Barely deserving of the name ‘planet’ in most cases, but Anakin didn’t really know what he was expecting. The Braxant Run was conveniently placed in the region but was extremely minor in the grand scheme of the war.

However, that was not a means for laxity or restfulness. Anakin knew better than most what a small group of under-armed but substantially motivated people could be capable of. The likely lightly armed Dreadnaught cruisers could still be a danger to the fragile frigates of his fleet.

The scouts sent ahead reported back an underwhelming defence squadron made up of a couple of cruisers, joined by a collection of defence skiffs and under armed corvettes. It would be trivial for the 5th to drive them away, going that the fleet remained when his far larger force arrived.

Seated in the Captain’s throne on the bridge of the  _ Neophyte _ , Anakin watched the spiralling of hyperspace for the final seconds they would be travelling. At his left stood TX-0013, the ever-steady officer and advisor. The droid had its arms folded behind tits back, photoreceptors staring at the same scene as Anakin with stoic silence. Naturally, the droid was more-likely-than-not running through the final preparation list, and just so happened to be facing the bow of the ship while doing that. After a moment of toying with the humorous thought of a tactical droid just standing in front of a wall while running through its standard procedures, Anakin returned to the present.

“Any damages during hyperspace, TX-0013?”

“The  _ MN-002X3 _ reports superficial damage to its subspace engines, but report they can maintain 78% efficiency in the coming battle.” One of the freighters than, impossible to recognize among the dozens of others. None of them had a normal name, likely titled by a droid algorithm than an organic crew. All of them were a seemingly random collection of numbers, hyphens, and letters.

Anakin didn’t respond as they arrived at that moment, the inertia dampeners making the arrival barely register on the bridge. The space between the  _ Neophyte  _ and its target, the asteroid of Borgo Prime, was short relative to the system but placed the frigate far outside the range of any defence platforms. A few alarm bells blared as the rest of the fleet arrived, the  _ Neophyte  _ briefly being cast in shadow with the appearance of the Lucrehulk.

Though the far larger ship lacked much in defence platforms, its core ship was able to slave all the droid fighters and keep them organized. 

“We are receiving several communication attempts from the hostile fleet and station.” One of the blue-coloured pilots droned from its positon below, its baritone voice marking it as an OOM-series.

“Is it too much to hope that they are offering us their surrender?” Anakin asked as the fleet moved into position, centred around the  _ Neophyte _ . The frigates lined up side to side with Anakin’s flagship at the centre, displaying what was likely a startling array of forward-facing batteries.

“We are receiving mixed requests and demands to leave the system, sir.” The comm officer droned from its seat. Anakin sighed, disappointed but not surprised.

“Order all ships to advance in-formation until the enemy falls into range of our bow cannons. Keep the fighters and bombers nearby and ready assault the enemy fleet once we are in range.”

“By your order, Commander.” TX-0013 turned and approached the comms officer, likely to oversee the order and ensure it reached the entire fleet. Within moments, the small strike force moved as one towards their enemy, utilizing admirable organisation. If one were to drag a single grudging compliment from Anakin about droids, it was that they always looked great when flying out of combat. Droid tacticians and officers always had formations planned out down to the most minute detail and executed them with impossible efficiency.

Silence fell over the bridge as the distance between the two fleets were closed. Fighters and bombers roared passed the bridge, at a safe distance, but beyond that the fleet’s movements were steady.

At a little shy of fifty-thousand kilometres, for seemingly no reason, both of the enemy cruisers turned and began leaving their allies defensive cloud. Anakin watched the two sizeable craft leave with curiosity before addressing the navigation officer.

“Report!”

“Both Dreadnaught-class Cruisers are charting courses to leave the system, Commander.” The droid responded from its console, bringing the holomap onto the larger screen suspended from the ceiling. It displayed the system on a two-dimensional plane, giving general positions of enemy ships and exact movements of his fleet. Both Dreadnaughts, as the officer claimed, were leaving the gravity well of Borgo Prime and were headed towards the nearest hyperspace exit.

“Comms?” Anakin asked after a moment of studying the holomap. The holoscreen rose back to its fixed position, nestled in the ceiling.

“According to the ship-to-ship open communications, the two Dreadnaughts were not ordered to leave their positions and are not responding to Borgo Command. I hypothesize--”

“Keep monitoring the communications, tell me if any concrete comes up. TX, order two wings of bombers and a wing of fighters to harass those cruisers. Keep them from leaving the system if possible.” Anakin interrupted the officer and addressed TX-0013, rattling off his orders and commands in rapid succession. It felt right, being in command of a force again, and it was with no small amount of apprehension that Anakin imagined what it would be like to fight in a life-or-death situation again.

“Yes, Commander.” Anakin leaned back into his seat as TX-0013 sent the orders out across the fleet. Within moments, two squadrons of bombers and a wing of mixed fighters and interceptors left the main fleet and bared down on the escaping cruisers. The remaining ships wouldn’t have been a threat to the  _ Neophyte _ , little more than the entire 5th Irregular, but Anakin knew from personal experience the folly of overconfidence.

At one-thousand kilometres, the fleet stopped. Soon thereafter, the forward-facing batteries began their bombardment. Lances of red and blue, from heavy turbolasers and ion cannons respectively, slammed into the far smaller ships. At this range, it was little more than a shooting gallery. The defenders couldn’t sit still lest their become zero’ed in by the far larger ships, and they knew it. After a few of their number detonated under direct hits or even glancing shots, a few tried a desperate assault. They didn’t even get their weapons in range before the Vulture droids and other fighters tore them apart with ruthless efficiency.

With their initially pitiful fleet reduced to a small handful of skiffs, the Administrator of Borgo Prime wasted no time giving Anakin his unconditional surrender. It was a disappointing, but not unexpected start, to his military career, but Anakin accepted it all the same. Leaving TX-0013, a detachment of Neimoidians and Colonel Hibuu Trunkud (the commanding officer of the Neimoidian Shock Troopers and the rather severe chap Anakin had seen earlier but had not learned the name of) to hash out details with the newly defeated Borgo prime government. Anakin was far more focused at the trapped prey at the system’s edge, the remaining cruiser.

One of them had managed to escape into hyperspace, but the other was far too cautious for its own good. It refused to lower its shields to activate its hyperdrive due to the cloud of bombers peppering it with ineffective bombs. It was good luck, then, that Anakin arrived with the fleet just before the bombers ran out of ammunition. Stuck between a rock and an array of turbolasers, the cruiser wasted no time surrendering.

While getting a cruiser would have been a boon to any other officer, Anakin lacked the crew to effectively take the ship over. Looking over its lacking weapon armament and pathetically outdated shielding made him debate taking it at all.

Sending a skeleton crew of droids to take command of the ship, Anakin brought his slipshod fleet back to Borgo Prime just in time to receive a communique from TX-0013.

“The Administrator of Borgo Prime has graciously accepted your terms of surrender, Commander, and has willingly joined the Confederacy.” Anakin was under no illusions that ‘graciously accepted’ and ‘willingly’ were merely stand-ins for ‘desperately accepted’ and ‘threatened into’, but he would accept victories as they came.

“Very good, order the Colonel to return to his ship and send a detachment of droids down, I want to be out of the system in 0100 hours.”

“By your command, sir.” 

The communication came to a close, leaving Anakin in the controlled chaos of his flagship’s bridge. Leaning back, Anakin gave a content sigh, pleased with the first victory of the day. Was it some grand success? No, but it felt good being back in the swing of things.

* * *

True to Anakin’s order, the fleet left Borgo Prime on the hour. The dreadnought, which Anakin hady et to name and was still debating the fate of, was slaved to one of the large destroyers and was being dragged along for the ride. Its former crew were deposited on Borgo Prime itself, along with the crews of the skiffs and freighters that formerly acted as a defensive force.

Anakin was certain it stung their pride some to see their former ships being scuttled soon after, but Anakin wasn’t going to risk an insurgent force at his rear, no matter how small. He needed to keep his entire focus forward, as his fleet was already weak enough as is. 

That was a pointless gesture, or so it seemed. For the remaining planets on the hyperspace lane, it seemed all their defence ships capable of hyperspace had already left. Baffling though it was from a morale perspective, Anakin could see the tactical necessity of gathering one’s ships in a larger force. It was likely the grand delusion of reconquest in some fresh officer, but Anakin would not be so easily driven back.

His ground forces lost most of their droid soldiers in garrison efforts, only slowly catching up as the actual garrison army secured each planet and station Anakin captured.

“The probe should show the system soon, sir.” 

Anakin merely nodded in response to the sensor officer’s words, staring out into the empty void over G’wenee, some small trade world. Like the previous planets, there were almost zero defence forces above or on the planet willing to fight his army. On paper, Anakin had quite the string of victories, but the complete lack of combat was growing annoying…

The large screen on the ceiling lowered and, with a moment of static, provided the view of the probe droid.

“Uh-oh.” One of the droid officers groaned, and Anakin shared the sentiment completely. Unlike every system previous, Halmad was well defended. The cruisers, all of whom bore the coat of arms of the Axxilian Defence Fleet. A dozen Dreadnaught-classes were the least of Anakin’s worries. Rather, he was far more concerned by the massive defence platforms floating in the planet’s orbit.

_ Golan  _ platforms.

This would be a tough fight, and Anakin couldn’t be more excited. 

* * *


End file.
